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Errata. 


Page 6, after 4th line read : 

“Is Cupid here yet ?” queried the manager with a 
scowl. 

Page 23, line 10, for “investigating” read “in- 
vesting.” 

Page 35, line 19, for “your” read “yore.” 

Page 41, line 12, after “over” supply “the.” 

Page 42, line 20, before “winding” for “a” read 
“the.” 

Page 43, line 10, for “was” read “were.” 

Page 156, line 11, for “soon” read “son.” 



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Thomas Ruffin 


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s y 

I 1 

B¥ 

E. W. GILLIAM, M. D. 

* / 

Author of “1791 : A Tale of San Domingo.” 



BALTIMORE: 

NICHOLS, KILLAM & MAFFITT, 


* V 


X 

Vf 


» 0 

eX 


Copyrighted, 1896, by E. W. Gilliam, M. D. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


•V 


fliomas Huff in 


CHAPTER I. 

CLOUD CAP. 

“From our New Orleans commission merchant,” 
said the manager of Cloud Cap, as he stood on his 
piazza a fine summer morning and opened a letter 
Lucinda, the maid, had just brought over from the 
mansion. 

Cloud Cap was one of the loveliest, most fertile, 
best conducted, and most prosperous estates in the 
far South sixty odd years ago. John Ruffin was its 
owner. It had long been the seat of a splendid 
hospitality. The recent death of Mrs. Ruffin had 
put an end to this, and, with advancing age, John 
Ruffin’s care was now all centred on his son Thomas. 

Cloud Cap lay upon a goodly river, three miles 
above the fine, old-fashioned, hospitable, thriving 
town of L , the latter at the head of steamboat 


4 


Thomas Ruffin. 


navigation, and controlling an extensive back-coun- 
try trade. Those would have thought the appella- 
tion strange, who were unfamiliar with the local 
traditions. Cloud Cap, indeed, was somewhat of an 
eminence, yet by no means so commanding as to 
justify such a title. In fact, the name was not 
derived from the locality at all, but from a gigantic 
Indian Chief (Cloud Cap being the English synonym 
for his Indian name), whose wigwam, in days far 
away back, stood on this site — the village of his 
people occupying the river plain below. 

The mansion — so roomy and so comfortable, with 
great airy passages, and broad piazzas, a typical 
Southern gentleman’s home — stood high upon the 
river’s hill, among lordly ash and oak. 

Southward half a mile ran the main road, whence 
a broad avenue — skirted on either side by tidy, 
white-washed negro cabins — led up to Cloud Cap. 
Towards the North the hill-side was finely wooded 
and carefully kept down to the lowest point of the 
declivity, where it terminated in a magnificent 
plantation of river low ground. 

Mr. Ruffin was a man of atfluence and owned a 
number of plantations; but this, known as the 
“Indian Field,” was the pride of them all. Two 
crescent curves, formed on one side by the foot line 
of the hill and on the opposite side by the bend of 
the river, inclosed an oval area of some 400 acres. 
It was perfectly level, so that a dog at one extremity 
could be seen at the other, and famed for fertility. 
In a former age it had been the site of an Indian 


Thomas Baffin. 


5 


village, and Mr. Ruffin would point out to Ills friends 
the positions of wigwams here and there, from the 
superior fertility marking certain distinctly circum- 
scribed spots — due, in his view, to the ashes and 
bones thrown out by the squaws. 

“From our New Orleans commission house,” said 
the manager opening the letter. Evidently it was 
an interesting and agreeable communication; for his 
countenance took on a most pleased expression, as 
he read. 

“A sales ticket ! Well done, Cloud Cap !” he 
exclaimed exultingly, as he completed the perusal. 

“ John Ruffin , Esq” (re-reading tlie letter and aloud) : 

Dear Sir Please find below statement of sales : 


400 Bales Cotton at 10c $20,000 

330 Bar’l Rice at 6c. 5,400 

100 Hhd’s Sugar at 5c 10.000 


35,400 

Commission at 5 per cent 628 


Net amount, 34,772 


This sum, at your request, has been placed in bank to your 
credit. Please find herewith certificate of bank deposit. 

Hope sales are satisfactory. With many thanks and soliciting 
further consignments, we remain respectfully, 

Nqtt & Co., Cotton Factors .” 

“35,000 net! Well done, I say, old Cloud Cap ! 
Where has Cloud Cap her equal % Cloud Cap caps 
climax! C. C. C. C. ! Four C’s. What does that 
mean? Why, that Cloud Cap’s the finest estate 
within the four seas — that is, in all America. Ha! 
ha! ha!” 


6 


Thomas Ruffin. 


The reappearance of Lucinda cut short the thread 
of the manager’s exultations. 

“Please, Sir,” she said with a curtsey, “Cupid 
wants to know what time it is.” 

“Yes, Sir,” curtseying. 

“Send Cupid to me at once.” 

“Yes, Sir,” responded Lucinda with a low curtsey, 
as she retired. 

“Our carriage driver has been strangely remiss,” 
soliloquized the manager. “His orders were exx>ress 
to have the buggy at the village for Thomas Ruffin 
an hour ago — 8 o’clock. The stage that brings 
Thomas is due at the village at half -past 8.” 

As reflections of this character were passing 
through his mind, from the rear Cupid was approach- 
ing — a big, black, bald, ungainly negro, no darling 
doubtless among dusky damsels, but a true prince 
among whips. His array was strictly in coachman 
style, a foil to his ungainliness, and he bore the air 
of importance usually attaching to a wealthy gentle- 
man’s carriage driver. 

“How is it you are here, Sir ?” cried the manager 
harshly, as he turned at the sound of Cupid’s step. 
“You had explicit orders to have the buggy at the 
village at 8.” 

“I knowed, Sail,” replied Cupid, with a profound 
bow, “de orders wus exquisite.” 

“Why, then, did you neglect such orders ?” asked 
the manager, sharply interrupting. 

“Very sorry,” (bowing); “but the carriage-house 
clock shet down at 7, an’ 1’ s jes dis minit found it out.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


7 


“Hurry off! hurry ’off! and don’t let Mr. Ruffin 
see you. Thomas is waiting at the village, if not 
now on the way in a hired vehicle.” 

“Yes, Sah ! yes, Sah !” responded Cupid, hastily 
bowing himself out of the manager’s presence, as 
the latter opened a letter from the table, whereon 
lay the morning mail, and glanced at it. 

“More Cloud Cap peals, perhaps — from Thomas 
Sanford & Co. — the New Orleans house that’s coin- 
ing money so. Ah! there’s a rhyme.” 

“To John Ruffin J { reading aloud) : 

“Dear Sir : — Check received. Your funds in bank have been 
transferred to this house, and placed to your credit. Please find 
enclosed receipt. 

Mr. Sanford, senior member, will personally write you and 
transmit papers. 

Yours truly, 

Thomas Sanford & Co.” 

“This is personal, and should have been so mark- 
ed. Yes, papers came yesterday, as Mr. Ruffin 
informed me. Nott & Co. had written sale proceeds, 
and the Boss checked out all his cash to this new 
hustling house. Hope it’s a safe venture. They 
promise big money.” 

The manager at once stepped over to the mansion, 
to hand Mr. Ruffin the Sanford letter. He found 
him giving directions to the servants, touching 
arrangements for an expected visit from old friends 
of his, Adam Peale, and his wife, Martha. 

Adam Peale was a Quaker by religion, a merchant 
by calling, a round-faced, dumpy, kind-hearted, 
jolly old gentleman. He resided in one of the great 


8 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Northern cities — had long had business relations 
with Mr. Ruffin — and out of these had grown a close 
friendship, to be emphasized by this anticipated 
visit to Cloud Cap. 

The spouse, Martha, was as true-hearted and good- 
hearted as her lord, but showed the sharp outlines 
of form and feature, that usually, for some cause or 
other, characterize the Quakers — or Friends, if that 
be better. Not a shadow of disrespect is meant, 
good reader, in using the former designation. 

John Ruffin was a typical Southern gentleman, 
under the old regime, high-toned, generous, culti- 
vated, and courteous. Physically, of spare habit — 
angular frame — muscles thin — and skin of a dark or 
earthy hue. The face gave indications of energy, 
and movements were hasty and abrupt. He was 
turned of difty, but looked older — the general ex- 
pression, one of subdued sadness. His eldest son 
had shown a wild, roving disposition, and, some 
years before the beginning of this narrative, had 
gone West in search of fortune. Then his letters 
began to drop off. Then they ceased. Strenuous, 
unwearied quest proved fruitless. It was many 
a day since any tidings had been received, and he 
was given up for dead. Recently, Mr. Ruffin had 
lost his wife, a loving and lovable woman, and he 
was tenderly attached to her — not, however, in that 
essential and peculiar way he was to Thomas, who 
now alone remained to him. Naturally, one cannot 
love his wife as he loves his child. Beyond the 
qualities that command friendship, the normal rela- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


9 


tion of husband and wife is sexual only. Between 
parent and child there is blood tie, and the parent, 
withal, marks his own self reappearing in the fea- 
tures and characteristics of his offspring. 

The Manager had scarcely left, when the bell 
rang, the door opened, and Lucinda ushered in the 
Peales, in full Quaker style and travel] ing garb. 

“Bless me ! My city friends !” exclaimed John 
Ruffin, amidst great hand -shaking. “Why, I ex- 
pected you by the next boat.’ ” 

“Doth it disturb thee, John,” quoth Friend Peale, 
rallying his host, “that we have anticipated the 
visit’s beginning ?” 

“No! No! not unless you make it ground for 
shortening the visit’s end.” 

A hearty ha ! ha ! ha ! greeted the sally. 

“Delighted to see you,” exclaimed John Ruffin. 
“A thousand welcomes to Cloud Cap. Here, Mrs. 
Peale, take the chair of honor,” drawing forward, 
as he spoke, an ancient looking chair — “a family 
relic of most venerable ancestry, and with a seat 
wrought by my own hands.” 

“By thy own hands ?” she queried, with a mingled 
expression of curiosity and astonishment. 

“Yes.” 

“Well ! I declare ! who’d have thought it !” she 
exclaimed, as she examined the chair’s bottom. 

“It’s the soft inside shuck, Madam, split, damp- 
ened, and twisted.” 

“We never see the like with us.” 


10 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Your North lands can’t grow our Southern 
shucks.” 

“Where did thee pick it up?” 

“In the cabins, when a boy. Shucking chairs is 
a negro’s common source of pocket change.” 

“Thee has a trade, John,” quoth the good woman 
laughing. 

“Something, Mrs. Peale, to fall back on, should 
fortune fail.” 

“To have been Cloud Cap’s owner,” interjected 
Friend Peale, “and a chair-mender — ” 

“You consider two states wide apart, perhaps,” 
interrupted Mr. Ruffin, smiling and anticipating the 
sentiment. 

“Yea! ha! ha! ha!” Friend Peale heartily re- 
sponded. 

“Stranger things have happened, Friend Peale. 
1 may yet twist shucks for a living,” said the host 
with assumed gravity. Whereat the jolly Quaker 
discharged another volley: “Ha! ha! ha! Get out, 
John, get out !” 

“Pm glad the carriage happened to be at the land- 
ing,” said Mr. Ruffin. 

“And the driver, at my request,” remarked his 
guest, “drove hither in a circuit, to show the estate 
to best advantage.” 

“Well, Friend Peale, you’ve often heard, I’m 
sure, of Cloud Cap.” 

“Yea, John — when have I sold thee a bill of goods 
that I haven’t heard of it ?” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


11 


“Ha ! lia ! ha ! Well, now that you have seen it, 
what have you to say V' interrogated the host. 

“What the Queen of Sheba said to Solomon.” — 
He paused an instant as if in the effort to recall the 
exact quotation, and before he could say what the 
Queen of Sheba said, his ready little wife came to 
his rescue and broke in, taking her good man’s 
words: 

“Behold! the half was not told me.” 

She immediately saw the discourtesy in Friend 
Peale’s look of surprise, but sought to put a good 
face on the incident, and replied in smiles: 

“Please, Adam, let a she say what a she said;” 
and a ringing laugh saluted the bit of pleasantry. 

It had scarcely subsided, when Mrs. Peale ob- 
served, with the splendid plantation scenes she had 
just witnessed, vividly before her: 

“And / thought upon the Royal Prophet's words, 
as his eye caught the rich harvests of Judea.” — 

But she was not allowed to finish. Friend Peale 
was now ahead of time, and taking, in his turn, his 
wife’s words, solemnly but quickly interjected: 

“The valleys stand so thick with corn, they laugh 
and sing.” 

And to her surprised look and shade of annoy- 
ance at the implied rebuke, he still solemnly an- 
swered: 

“Please, Martha, let a he say what a he said.” 

Another ringing laugh from all greeted the hit 
and smoothed out the little wrinkle, and honors 


12 


Thomas Ruffin . 


were considered easy between good man and spouse. 

“The negro quarters make a village, John,” re- 
marked Friend Peale, still ringing the changes on 
Cloud Cap. 

“And look so clean and nice in white-wash,” Mrs. 
Peale added. 

“And the Blacks are so polite,” said he. 

“And seem contented and happy,” said she. 

“And the grounds, John, are lovely,” Friend 
Peale continued, multiplying the merited encom- 
iums. 

“Well ! well ! Cloud Cap praises are pleasing,” 
replied Mr. Ruffin to all this ; “but you’re dusty 
and tired, and must not be kept from your rooms” 
(ringing up servant as he speaks). “After rest and 
refreshment I’ll show you round myself, and then I 
think you’ll say with all who have been here, there 
is hut one Cloud Cap.” 

At this point Lucinda entered with a curtesy. 

“Here, Lucinda,” said the host, “show our guests 
to their rooms, and see that the luggage is all right.” 

In those days the tongues of maid servants were 
often in their knees, and Lucinda silently responded 
in a curtsey. 

With renewed and mutual expressions of pleasure 
at the meeting, the Peales retire, and the door 
which opens for their exit, admits another visitor, 
who had been in waiting, Mr. Le Wray. 

The latter was leading lawyer resident at L , 

whom Mr. Ruffin generally consulted. He had been 


Thomas Ruffin. 


13 


sent for on this occasion touching a matter of spe- 
cial importance. 

“Come in, Mr. Le Wray,” said Mr. Ruffin, ac- 
cording to a mode of speech not unfrequently ad- 
dressed to one already wholly “in,” as in the pres- 
ent instance ; for the attorney was advancing to- 
wards the speaker. “I’ve sent for you,” he con- 
tinued, after exchange of salutations, “to submit 
certain papers bearing on the provision I wish to 
make for Thomas.” 

“Very well, Sir.” 

“You know I’m an anxious Father.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“But ho 10 anxious — how peculiar — how silly, it 
may be — you don't know.” 

“No — I don’t know that yet, Mr. Ruffin.” 

“There has never lived a Father, I believe, with a 
heart so tender, so framed to be anxious — and never 
a son, I believe, who, while so amiable, is so formed 
to rouse anxiety.” 

“Come ! Mr. Ruffin, ’twon’t do to nurse extremes, 
Sir.” 

“I’m peculiar, I tell you— the most peculiar Father 
on earth, perhaps. It’s my nature." 

“But reason should moderate natural tendencies.” 

“Can’t help it, Le Wray. I’m a fool, perhaps, 
about Thomas. Would you believe, that, when I 
think of him in certain relations, I’m filled with 
inexpressible sadness ?” 

“You astonish me, Sir !” 


14 


Thomas Ruffin. 


U I suffer a kind of agony.” 

“Mr. Ruffin ! What on earth can you mean ?” 

“Thomas is so unfitted for the world, Le Wray.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! Such a disparity, Mr. Ruffin, 
between the manifesto and the conduct of the war. 
-1 thought you were about to charge against the lad 
some heinous offense, or fatal infirmity. Ha ! 
ha! ha!” 

“I fear it is a fatal infirmity.” 

Pray, Sir, how is he unfitted for the world ?” 

“In many ways, Le Wray.” 

“Will you please specify them ?” 

“He seems so feeble.” 

“Let him then nurse his muscularity, Mr. Ruffin. 
The remedy lies there.” 

“I don’t mean physical feebleness, though his 
body is not the strongest. I mean a feeble nature, 
poor child. As lovable and intelligent as he is, I 
fear in him — and God only knows how it weighs 
upon me — a softness, a weakness of character, that 
disqualifies for the world.” 

“What evidence do you offer?” 

“He’s so impulsive, so wanting in judgment, Le 
Wray.” 

“He’s but a youth, yet.” 

“A whim takes him. Immediately he gratifies 
it — the thing’s bought or exchanged, the bargain 
made — and immediately he’s dissatisfied and un- 
happy. No stability, no firm opinions, no strength 
of character.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


15 


“Many a fine and successful man, Sir, has shown 
such whims in youth.” 

“But Thomas’ seem so excessive.” 

“Educate, educate, Mr. Ruffin. Time and care 
will wear down and round off the eccentricities — 
which, indeed, your excessive solicitude must greatly 
exaggerate.” 

“Ah ! Le Wray, you don’t see him as I do, the 
most diffident and most sensitive of mortals.” 

“Because I don’t see him through a lense of dis- 
tortion.” 

“He’s full of affection — ready to lean — sighs for 
companionship — yet all in vain. Excessive diffi- 
dence discourages advanoes. V enturing among com- 
panions, excessive sensitiveness makes him a target. 
He’s self-driven from them, and, poor child, ever 
doomed to isolation.” 

“You are conjuring up a Thomas, that, in my 
humble opinion, has no existence, Mr. Ruffin.” 

“Better, perhaps, had he never existed.” 

“Mr. Ruffin!” 

“Since preordained to special suffering.” 

“Are you crazy, Sir?” 

“Afflicted in his parents, Le Wray.” 

“On my soul you must be crazy, Sir.” 

“His mother — ” 

“Mr. Ruffin! Mr. Ruffin!” interrupted the law- 
yer, “this will never do. Arraign your saintly wife, 
and the sod scarce rooted over her grave !” 

“No! Le Wray — no, Sir ! — no! no!” 


16 


Thomas Ruffin. 


I’ve never known one to approach your late wife, 
Mr. Ruffin. 1 ’ 

“Nor I, Le Wray.” 

“Her self-abnegation, purity, and sweetness — ” 

“Had no equal,” broke in Mr. Ruffin, resolved no 
one should be before him in his wife’s praises. 

“She was the charm of her circle.” 

“Most truly spoken, Le Wray.” 

“And made religion amiable in the eyes of all who 
knew her.” 

“Yes, yes. One so nearly perfect I shall never 
see again.” 

“How, then, an afflicting Mother, Mr. Ruffin?” 

“She was neurotic and supersensitive, and should 
never have wed a supersensitive neurotic like me.” 

“Ha! ha ! ha!” responded the lawyer. 

“Merriment is out of place, Mr. Le Wray.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Ruffin.” 

“I’m disturbed in mind, even distressed, Sir. The 
acute cause you’ll know later on.” 

“I pray, Sir, pardon the laugh, provoked by a 
contrast. You were pressing a similarity in respect 
to your wife’s temperament, while I have ever recog- 
nized a clear opposition .” 

• “A clear opposition !” 

“Yes, Sir. You a distinct brunette — she a dis- 
tinct blonde ; and I may add; the fruit of such a 
union by natural law should be harmonious.” 

“Should be! But is it? Fact outweighs theory, 
Le Wray— as no one ought to know so well as a 


Thomas Ruffin. 


17 


lawyer. — Thomas’ nature harmonious ! How can it 
be, combining the nervous idiosyncracies of his 
parents \ This very day he returns from school, 
because life there is a torment. Try as he may, the 
poor, sensitive, diffident fellow cannot get on with 
the boys, and is so completely isolated and unhappy, 
that, should he remain, I would fear for his mind.” 

“I’ve seen timid youths make manly men, I could 
tell you, Mr. Ruffin ; but you set your face against 
counsel and comfort.” 

“Wliat a mercy ! could I think so about Thomas; 
for I suffer because of him.” 

“When, for the life of me, I can see no adequate 
cause.” 

“I bear the child, now alone left to me, an affec- 
tion so singular that the thought of his helpless- 
ness — ” 

“His helplessness !” interrupted the lawyer. “Sir, 
you will work yourself into a deranged state. Why 
such anticipations? The man’s hand, I repeat, is 
not yet all revealed in the lad. Exaggeration and 
imagination are running away with you, Sir.” 

“Call me a fool, if you will, but — ” 

“This Thomas, Sir — so helpless, so feeble in char- 
acter — may yet take care of you , Mr. Ruffin,” again 
interrupted the lawyer, unable to restrain himself 
at fancies he considered so unreasonable. 

“Yes, call me a fool — but the thought of his 
helplessness, in the possible struggles of life, makes 
my heart sink from excess of tendernesss.” 


18 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“But why , why worry yourself with any thought 
of life-struggles — you so amply rich ?” 

“True. I can provide for him. Thank God ! for 
that resource. Should aught happen, Le Wray, to 
take it from me Ibelieve V d go mad” 

“Why allude, at all, to such a contingency, Mr. 
Ruffin? You can’t have apprehensions in that di- 
rection?” asked the lawyer, with a manner indi- 
cating awakened interest. 

“No-o,” was the reply, in a tone of reservation. 
“But there are matters to be spoken of presently. — 
Now, as to the provision for Thomas — ” 

The sentence was cut off by the entrance of 
Lucinda. 

“Please, Sir,” she said with a curtsey, “the over- 
seers is a waitin’.” 

“Tell them to come in.” 

“Yes, Sir,” she replied curtseying, and retired, 
to give the message. 

These field-overseers were elderly, experienced 
negroes, known for integrity and farming skill. 
Each had charge of a gang of laborers. All were 
under the Manager, and at the head was Mr. Ruffin 
himself. A thorough master of plantation work in 
all its details, he took an active part in inspecting 
and directing, as his time allowed. He had been 
over the fields the day before, and had instructed 
the Manager to send up the overseers for special 
orders. 

A moment later they enter, with profound bows 
and a sense of importance awkwardly exhibited — a 


Thomas Ruffin. 


19 


half dozen, Amos, Solomon and others — and line 
themselves against the wall opposite the seats occu- 
lted by the Master and his visitor. 

“Well, Boys,” spoke Mr. Ruffin, “Cloud Cap 
must do its level best this season.” 

“Yes, Sah!” they all answer in unison, with the 
bow that waited on every address to the Master. 

“I want it to make me all the cash it can.” 

“Yes, Sah!” 

“See that your gangs do their duty.” 

“Yes, Sah !” 

“Amos !” 

“Yes, Sah!” Amos responded with a low bow, 
as he stepped forward. 

“Run thirty plows in the Indian Field.” 

“Yes, Sah !” 

“I want that corn finished up, while the ground’s 
damp and in condition.” 

“Yes, Sah ! De ground’s in fine perdition, Sah,” 
Amos replied with a broad grin and bow of unusual 
strength, elated at his display of speech, and withal 
visibly stimulating the lawyer’s risibles. 

“Well, Solomon!” said the Master, addressing the 
second overseer. 

“Yes, Sah !” spoke up Solomon with the bow, 
stepping forward briskly, as Amos retired to the 
line. 

“Put sixty hoes in the cotton.” 

“Yes, Sah!” 

“Fine day for exterminating grass, Solomon.” 

“Yes, Sah ! Splendid day, Sah, for germinatin’ 


20 


Tliomas Ruffin. 


de grass, Sail !” rejoined Solomon, and with a 
chuckle of exultation, that, if he had not surpassed 
Amos, he was np to him at least in the gift of 
tongues. 

“You other Boys!” said the Master, calling up 
the rest. 

“Yes, Sail!” they answer steiiping forward, as 
Solomon now retires to line. 

“Gro on with the work you were doing yesterday.” 

“Yes, Sah!” 

“That’s all.” 

“Yes, Sah!” answer the “other Boys” as they 
turn to resume their places. 

Mr. Ruffin pauses a moment in reflection, and then 
remarks: 

“You can retire now.” 

The overseers, not comprehending retire remain 
standing and in a species of bewilderment. To 
cover their ignorance in a stranger’s presence, the 
Master endeavors by look and gesture to have them 
leave, while they, not knowing what to do and grin- 
ning stupidly, exchange glances with him and with 
each other. 

“Can’t you understand !” exclaimed Mr. Ruffin, 
ending the scene with a tone of irritation. “You 
can leave now, I say.” 

“Yes, Sah ! yes, Sah !” the overseers make answer, 
bowing and retiring briskly. 

“Fine looking darkies,” observed the lawyer, as 
the door closed behind them. 


Thomas fiuffin. 21 

“With a fine knowledge of farming, too, I can tell 
you, Le Wray.” 

“And lean add, Mr. Ruffin, a fine discrimination 
in respect to language.” 

A smile from John Ruffin greeted the banter, as 
he took up the broken thread of conversation. — 

“Now, as to the provision for Thomas: He has 
no aptitude nor fancy, I think, for plantation man- 
agement. But he has mind, is well educated and 
fond of books, and altogether, I judge, literature 
will be his field. I purpose, therefore, to accumu- 
late cash up to $100,000 — invest this for him in a 
life annuity — and leave Cloud Cap in a trust, for his 
benefit. He can, then, when I am gone, choose a 
residence in some favorable city, where his literary 
tastes may be pursued to best advantage, with a 
fortune needing a minimum of care.” 

“Well!” threw in the lawyer in a lawyerlike way, 
tapping the table with his finger and settling down 
to business, as Mr. Ruffin made a momentary pause. 

“To get the $100,000 in the quickest way possi- 
ble,” continued Mr. Ruffin, “I’ve become a limited 
copartner in the New Orleans Cotton House of 
Thomas Sanford & Co.” 

“How much have you invested, Mr. Ruffin?” 

“$50,000— all my cash.” 

“How much do the Sanfords offer, Sir?” 

“30 per cent.” 

“Did you examine into the Firm’s condition ?” 

“No. Mr. Sanford is a very near and a very dear 


22 Thomas Ruffin. 

cousin, as you’re aware, and I accepted liis state- 
ments.” 

“In affairs of this sort, it’s advisable to watch 
even near and dear cousins, Mr. Ruffin. Cousins 
have proven cozening, where personal interests are 
involved.” 

“Do you reflect upon my kinsman, Sir?” 

“Not at all, Mr. Ruffin. I’m simply giving my 
experience as a lawyer, and in the light of that ex- 
perience advise you to be on guard. Mr. Sanford is 
one of our first citizens, I know, and entirely trust- 
worthy.” 

“Why the caution, then, against accepting his 
statements ?” 

“He may be deceived.” 

“He ! the head of the House !” 

“The nominal head, but not the active Manager, 
Mr. Ruffin. Mr. Sanford is a resident of our town 
and often absent from New Orleans, and the state 
of affairs there cannot always be known to him.” 

Mr. Ruffin reflected a moment in a worried way, 
and then remarked: 

“But, Le Wray, the House, though a new one, 
has had remarkable success. Surely, there can be 
no danger.” 

“Yes— and success due to remarkably bold specu- 
lation, as I hear.” 

“Why that emphasis on “bold”? Do you 
suppose Mr. Sanford would countenance illegiti- 
mate business ?” 


Thomas Ruffin. 23 

“Not illegitimate in tlie sense of being per se dis- 
honest.” 

“In what sense then?” 

“That of undue hazard.” 

“Why suppose undue hazard here?” 

“A promise of 30 per cent, in cotton means rash 
speculation, if it means anything, Mr. Ruffin. The 
House has leaped into wealth by taking heavy risks 
and making hits. But tides ebb, as well as flow.” 

“I wish I had consulted you before investigating,” 
said Mr. Ruffin, with an expression of alarm mani- 
festly gathering on his countenance. 

“Have you heard any rumors, Sir?” 

“Why? — Have you, Le Wray?” 

“Have you V 

“Yes, to speak the honest truth ; and I’m really 
alarmed. Some days ago I received outside advices 
reflecting on the House, and at once wrote Mr. San- 
ford, now in New Orleans. I’m looking any mo- 
ment for an answer. And yesterday’s mail brought 
another letter repeating these adverse reports.” 

“I’m glad your Copartnership is limited, and 
affecting but a fraction of your means.” 

“And this brings up the very matter for consul- 
tation. Please see if this copartnership instrument 
is correct. Mr. Sanford had it drawn. These ru- 
mors have disturbed me, and I must be reassured 
Pm not involved beyond the sum invested .” 

Mr. Le Wray carefully examines the paper, and 
returns it with the remark: 

“It’s all right. Sir.” 


Thomas Muffin. 


24 


“Well! I’m relieved!” exclaimed John Ruffin, 
stretching himself back in his seat with an air of 
the greatest satisfaction. 

“But, Mr. Ruffin, the validity of the limitation 
clause rests on two conditions.” 

“Ah! What are they?” eagerly asks the client. 

“First: You are to take no active part in the 
management.” 

“I’ve taken none.” 

“Second: Publication must be made.” 

“Publication!” cried out Mr. Ruffin bending for- 
ward, as alarm again loured over liis features. 

“Yes. Has this been omitted?” 

“Mr. Sanford said nothing about publication,” 
the client evasively answered, postponing the nega- 
tive, to take in the turn matters had assumed, and 
the signs of alarm visibly increasing. 

“Have you made then, or caused to be made, no 
publication of the transaction?” pointedly asked 
the lawyer. 

“None, Sir,” was the faltering reply. 

“Then, Mr. Ruffin, this paper is absolutely nil as 
far as a limited copartnership is concerned, and 
your entire means are involved in the fortunes of 
the Sanford House.” 

“My God !” broke forth John Ruffin, rising from 
his seat with a blanched countenance. 

“Be calm, Mr. Ruffin. Don’t lose your head. 
Matters may not be bad after all.” 

“What d’you advise ?” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


25 


u To leave at once for New Orleans, or rather write 
there, and have publication made.” 

“But suppose something has happened, Le 
Wray ?” 

“We’ll not suppose something, till we know some- 
thing,” the lawyer rejoined. 

He had scarcely ended the sentence, when the 
door opened and friend Peale and his wife in high 
feather came bustling into the room with Thomas. 

“Here he is ! here lie is ! John Ruffin,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Peale. 

“And a happy lad he seems,” added her good 
man. 

“O dear Father!” Thomas cried out, “I’m so , so 
glad to see you and be home again.” 

“My child!” the Father exclaimed, embracing 
his son. 

“Here’s a letter, Father, I brought from the vil- 
lage.” 

John Ruffin seizes the letter, tears it open, and 
with an awful light in his eyes reads aloud : 

“Thomas Sanford & Co. fail for over half mil- 
lion !” 

“My son ! my son ! We’ve lost all and are beg- 
gars !” 

“What!” Thomas blurted out, unable to take in 
the situation, yet profoundly agitated by a sense of 
something dreadful. 

“We’ve lost Cloud Cap and all our fortune, my 
child, and are beggars,” faltered the Father. 

“O Father!” cried Thomas, bursting into tears 


26 


Thomas Ruffin. 


and seizing his Father’s hand,, “never mind ! never 
mind ! I can help you.” 

But the words are unheeded ; for John Ruffin 
faints and falls into his son’s supporting arms. 


CHAPTER II. 


SELRACHTS’ COLLEGE. 

My earliest recollections are those of a beautiful 
and happy Southern home. I mean particularly 
our country home at Cloud Cap. I remember my 
Mother’s often telling me, when a child, I had soft, 
wavy brown hair, and large, dark, tender eyes. 
From the first my education received very careful 
attention. My father superintended my Latin, him- 
self a classical scholar, and I had besides the best 
tutors both in town and country. But in the late 
Spring and early Autumn and all the Summer 
through, I was free, I may say. I had a frail ap- 
pearance, and my Father encouraged in every way 
the development of my physique. I had a fancy 
for 4 ‘chopping,” and became an expert woodman. 
My Father provided me with axe, maul, wedges, 
and gluts, specially my own, and many a goodly 
tree did I fell and cut and split and cord for Winter 
fuel. 

The foundation so laid for firm muscles and com- 
pact bones (though really I never looked strong) 
proved of signal advantage in after years, when un- 
usual demands were made on endurance. What I 


28 


Thomas Ruffin. 


have since seen in books, I experienced in my own 
person, that one of the two cardinal helps (the 
other, a cheerful spirit) towards successful passage 
through the world, is a sturdy frame, a body strong 
to bear. 

At seventeen I was tall and well taught, yet sin- 
gularly shy and reticent in the presence of strang- 
ers. The face of my fellow man, though in stormy 
mood, I can now confront, I hope, with commenda- 
ble firmness. But at that time I was timid and 
shrinking to a most painful degree — due, as my 
Father said, to having lived so entirely at home, 
under tutors and with those always considerate and 
tender ; and for rubbing out these wrinkles the ex- 
X^erience of a Boarding School he considered advisa- 
ble. That it was for the best so I thought, too, to 
whom he fully explained his reasons. Alas ! it 
proved the beginning of sorrows. 

Those there are, doubtless, for whom a Boarding 
School process is desirable — who come out smooth 
and shiny. But others are rubbed raw, harmed 
irrevocably. I warn the parents of oversensitive 
children. Don’ t attempt rubbing out the wrinkles 
through an average Boarding School without having- 
gauged the child accurately. My Father had not 
sounded my depths, or he would have been the last 
on earth to send me among a lot of rough, vulgar, 
unfeeling boys, to have my supersensitiveness 
played upon and deey>ed into melancholia, which 
would have become insanity, I veribly believe, had 
not my stay at school been cut short suddenly. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


29 


But the dark side of Boarding School life was 
now hidden. I saw only the other. All that my 
Father said as to the advantages, I believed. I be- 
came interested in the preparations for departure. 
As dearly as I loved my home, I took positive pleas- 
ure in seeing my abundant outfit packed away in a 
stout leathern trunk. If a misgiving was expressed 
now and then, they would reassure me, saying 
“Selrachts” was not so far off, and should anything 
happen they could at once reach me. 

The last visit to L was to see the Sanfords. 

Thomas Sanford was a man of character and of for- 
tune. As stated in the preceding chapter, he was 
senior member of the New Orleans Cotton House of 
Sanford & Co. He was my Mother’s first cousin, 
their mothers being sisters, and the closest intimacy 
existed between the families. Cousin Thomas was 
my god-father. I was his namesake, and a special 
favorite. My reception on this particular occasion 
was of the warmest kind. Good wishes were show- 
ered upon me. Cousin Thomas predicted scholarly 
successes. Aunt Sanford — a well-preserved matron 
of the olden school, with an air of distinction, and 
gracious winning manners — gave appropriate coun- 
sels. From each I received a memento. But what 
I valued most was a little token from my Cousin 
Amy. 

Amy Sanford was just one year my junior. We 
had been play-mates from infancy, I may say, and 
were great friends; yet till this hour I had not 
known the strength of the bond. W e made frequent 


30 


Thomas Ruffin. 


and extended visits to each other, and in the sum- 
mertide especially Amy would often be at Cloud 
Cap for days together. There was no daughter in 
our family, nor son in the Sanford’s, and we, in a 
sense, respectively supplied the want. Amy had full, 
bright-brown eyes, and a wealth of chestnut hair, 
and had she been far less winsome, she would have 
held still the key to popularity in the interest uni- 
formly manifested in the affairs of others. Into all 
the amusements of my boyhood she entered with 
zeal — with far more than I did into her’s; and among 
the first things she did on each successive visit, was 
to go the rounds with me to my partridge-traps and 
hare-snares, and to see my dam and corn-stalk flut- 
ter-wheels down at the branch. 

I speak of Amy, as she was in earlier days. With 
increasing years the perfect freedom of childhood 
had declined — not from any untoward or hardening 
influences, like those batterings and deceivings of 
the world that transform ingenuous youth into 
spirits ol suspicion and ill-will, withdrawing into 
themselves, and coiled up serpent-like, to- strike 
aggressors. No, no. The process was altogether 
natural. Amy was now in her 16th year, rapidly 
exj>anding into rounded lines of even greater beauty. 
She had passed into that period of life, when the 
consciousness of sex, dawning on the pure in heart, 
raises its barriers, and the merry-hearted, demon- 
strative girl of yore is inclined instinctively towards 
shyness and reticence. Besides, habits of intimacy 
had been affected necessarily by absence at a North- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


31 


ern School (a celebrated Quaker institution), where, 
it can be added, her studies had been pursued with 
eclat. My Father had recommended the school to 
Cousin Thomas; and he himself knew it through his 
Quaker friend, Mr. Peale, a prominent member of 
the board of trustees. 

Whatever the cause, the change was external and 
no more. Our sentiments towards each other — or 
rather, my sentiments towards Amy, since I could 
speak for myself alone — had not altered, only deep- 
ened, and begun to assume a form, the true charac- 
ter of which I did not then altogether understand. 
About one thing, however, there was no misappre- 
hension. My parting with Amy had more of pang 
than with any of the others. On this occasion she 
stood apart, the least demonstrative person in the 
company. Yet her tine eyes shone with an expres- 
sion I often dwelt on afterwards; and as I kissed 
her warm lips she placed in my hand a locket hold- 
ing a pressed Moss rosebud — her favorite flower, 
and from “our bush,” she said — the bush we had 
planted away back and had long cultivated together. 

Next day I was to leave, at 4 P. M. “Selrachts” 
was not so far off. Yet I was not to go in our own 
carriage, but in the public stage, and alone, thrown 
at once on my own responsibilities. 

That morning my Father took occasion to repeat 
the counsels he had impressed upon me. On one 
point he put special emphasis, as the first lesson 
every boy should learn : The importance of moral 
courage to bear ridicule. He pointed to examples 


32 


Thomas Ruffin. 


in liis own school and college careers, where upright 
youths had been self-ensnared from inability to face 
a laugh. He knew, he said, for the first week or 
two I would be dismally homesick, but that I must 
bear up like a man — that a happy faculty of adapta- 
tion had been given us — that he felt sure my conduct 
would win the esteem of my teachers and make 
friends among the boys. He was sure, too, from 'the 
training I had received and amount of ground gone 
over, that I would make a commendable record in 
my studies — that the ambitions and rivalries and 
triumphs of the class-room would rouse and interest 
me — that I would become engrossed in a new order 
of ideas, and be soon, he doubted not, contentedly 
fitted in to .my surroundings. He would lay stress 
on it, that, in sending me to this school, the pur- 
pose was to make me self-reliant, to give me tough- 
ness for brushing and pushing and rubbing through 
the world — in short, to make a man of me ; and 
while, he knew, there would be hardnesses, to en- 
dure these hardnesses was the very end sought. 

The parting hour was at hand. Preparations to 
the last detail had been completed. The thought 
of change, with hopeful possibilities, is exhilarat- 
ing, and in a state of happy excitement I took leave 
of every body and every thing, animate and inani- 
mate, at and about Cloud Cap — met the coach on 
time — and at 4 rumbled out of L. — 

Thoughts come and go, a thousand thoughts. I was 
not unhappy. Rather otherwise. I soon found 
myself watching the clouds. From the earliest re- 


Thomas Ruffin . 


33 


collections this have I done with singular interest. 
Probably, because my mother was wont to tell me, 
that, in the divine economy, the angels have charge 
of the winds and the clouds. I would watch and 
watch them, and imagine personal form and move- 
ment. It was in the thirties, the 27th of Septem- 
ber, but a tine summer-like afternoon. A lively 
breeze tempered the blazing sun. Bodies of cumu- 
lus summer-cloud floated lazily here and there, with 
lower strata of smooth leaden hue, supporting massy 
sunlit coils of dazzling whiteness, like radiant banks 
of snow. I watched the clouds and fell into rev- 
eries. Time sped. It grew dark, and out of the 
giant depths of the clear Heavens the stars shone 
forth with unusual splendor. Still I was watching 
the heavens and dreaming. At length drowsiness 
drew on — recoil from excitement. The coach’s gen- 
tle jog over sandy roads aided the tendency. Pres- 
ently I slept, and soundly. 

At 6 next morning we had breakfast at a famous 
way-side inn, kept by one Mrs. Barclay. Here a 
change of whip was made, and sixth change of 
teams, and soon we were bowling along again. I 
felt mannish and splendid. Noon dinneiywas taken 
at another country inn, with another change of 
teams. Two hours later, from a hill-crest, the spires 
of Selrachts College were seen to the right above the 
top of an intervening wood. Three-fourths of a 
mile further on the stately fa 9 ade came full into view. 

The edifice, fronting southward, occupied a slight- 
ly elevated site, two hundred yards from the road — 


34 


Thomas Ruffin. 


the intervening area being set in grass, and adorned 
with lawn trees and shrubbery and flowering plants 
of various description. This area a winding carriage 
way cut in twain. On either side of this way ran 
the graveled walks. A space, northwest, level and 
bare, made an ample play-ground. East of the 
grounds, up to the main road, were the kitchen gar- 
dens. Southward, beyond the road, lay broad, well 
cultivated fields. Westward stood a body of dark 
forest. 

The college was of stone, four stories high. A 
main centre portion — of sixty feet front, and stand- 
ing out from the long wings in massive piazzas 
upheld by a succession of arches — terminated later- 
ally in two short towers, surmounted by dumpy, 
quadrilateral spires. 

An imposing pile. Its genius was an accom- 
plished German, Wilhelm Yon Selrachts. As Lam- 
ertine has observed in his life of Fenelon, there are 
two qualities in rare combination, but which must 
coexist, to make a really great teacher, the power to 
command , and the gift of pleasing. These in emi 
nent degree Yon Selrachts possessed, and had not 
death cut short his career, his fame would have been 
as broad as the country. 

He received me with a winning air of benevolent 
authority, adding certain pertinent observations, 
suggested by what my Father had written him, I 
am sure — observations upon the peculiar trials before 
me. Presently I was introduced to the Dominie 
having immediate supervision of the boys with 


Thomas Ruffin. 


35 


wliom I was to be classed. His name was Du Big- 
lau — verily, a low , lean, little Frenchman, yet truly 
big in amiable directions, the most sympathetic and 
kindliest of men. 

First impressions were not unfavorable, even good. 
I ate supper in the spacious refectory and went to 
bed with far less of homesickness than I had antici- 
pated. It was long before I could close my eyes. 
For hours I lay wide awake in the great attic dor- 
mitory, with scores of sleeping boys about me. 
There were throngs and throngs of thought. They 
gathered mainly about the next Xtmastide. With 
us and in our circle it had ever been a season of the 
greatest gaiety. How bright would be the next ! I 
would be at home ! And how inqjroved ! How joy- 
fully would my dear Father and all greet me !— 
Finally sleep came, and with it behold ! a dream: 
It was the Xtmastide at home, and I stood by Amy’s 
side, cutting, as of your, cedar and holly twigs for 
her nimble fingers to bind into wreaths for the 
Xtmas altar. I awoke. Again I slept. Again I 
dreamed — yet less and less distinctly. Towards 
morning I had passed into sound slumber, broken 
by the early college bell. 

I rose unrefreshed. Excitements had passed away. 
A lonely, helpless, despairing sort of feeling came 
creeping over me ; nor did the incidents of the day 
tend to dispel it. Unfortunately, at this juncture 
the reputation of the college for discipline had 
drawn thither an unusually large percentage of 
rough, rude material. My experiences now began. 


36 


Thomas Ruffin. 


It was a few moments past breakfast, in the recreation 
room, when my teacher, calling me up, introduced 
me to a lot of these fellows. Whereat I blushed 
like a girl, averted my head, cast my eyes down, 
and looked askance at the boys, in a timid sort of 
way — an old trick of mine with strangers. To beha- 
viour so unexpected and silly the natural response 
was a burst of laughter. I drew back dreadfully 
confused and mortified. The Dominie spoke up 
kindly, accompanying me, as I retired, completely 
downhearted, to the solitude of the study-hall. He 
remained with me the rest of the hour, never allu- 
ding to the blunder, but seeking to divert my mind 
by explaining, with an interplay of wit and anec- 
dote, the mode of teaching at the college, &c., &c. 

The bell rang for recitation, and presently in the 
class room I gave another “exhibition.” It was the 
weekly review in mental arithmetic. The questions 
had been going round, simple questions, thought I 
to myself, and getting many more misses than I 
would have supposed — when all at once the Dominie, 
looking at me kindly, called my name and asked me 
a question. I had not dreamed of such a thing. I 
had been told it was not usual to be called up on 
one’s first appearance in class, and the peculiar cir- 
cumstances of my case made the call the more unex- 
pected. In this departure the Dominie was moved 
by the best motive, as he afterwards explained to 
me. At the matriculating examination the evening 
before, he had asked, if not this identical question, 
yet questions of precisely similar character, and I 


Thomas Ruffin. 


37 


had given such ready answers, he felt sure I would 
answer this, and acquit myself so creditably, as to 
offset the impression make by the faux pas at the 
introduction. 

The question struck me like a thunderbolt. I 
rose mechanically, my whole body visibly agitated, 
my face pale as a ghost’s, and, in tremulous voice, 
asked a restatement of the question— partly, to gain 
time for reflection — partly, because, in the confusion 
overwhelming me, I had not in truth clearly appre- 
hended the Dominie’s words. The latter realized my 
predicament and put the question again, very slowly, 
very clearly, very distinctly, giving at the same time 
a smile of encouragement. All for naught. I had 
enough intelligence left to see the Dominie’s friendly 
animus, and my inability to meet expectation aug- 
mented the confusion. I stood regarding him with 
a stupid stare. I tried to think, but was totally 
unable. I had not the least control over resources. 
A sweat oozed from every pore. My agitation was 
visibly increasing, when the Dominie, with expres- 
sion of distress at having unwittingly set a trap, 
relieved the situation by answering the question for 
me — whereupon I shot back into my seat in a gush 
of passionate tears. The boys resxxmded with a 
ripple of derisive laughter. This the Dominie in- 
stantly checked, and, saying I was not well, bade 
me seek relief in the open air. 

I went out, and beneath some dense, low-branched 
cedars, which grew on the slope near the play-ground 
of the smaller boys, threw myself down in agony of 


38 


Thomas Ruffin. 


spirit, supersensitive creature that I was. Vexed 
with myself, mortified to the last degree, I made a 
great vow. 

By the noon recreation hour I was composed. 
Immediately I sought the Dominie — insisted upon 
his plying me with questions at once — told him I 
had vowed to overcome this foolishness — and that 
such a discipline before the class would be a means. 

He commended the resolution — warned me with a 
twinkle to be ready — felt sure I would do well, 
&c., &c. 

The Dominie promptly redeemed the promise. 
The questions began coming that very afternoon. I 
had a mastery of the subjects, seeing the ground 
had been covered under tutors. Answers were cor- 
rectly given, if timidly. With every recitation I 
gathered confidence; and soon it became apparent 
to the class I was the first scholar among them. 

My proficiency delighted the Dominie, of course; 
but won the pointed ill-will of three or four boys 
whom I had thus turned down. They had been 
standing abreast at head, and struggling against 
each other for the medal. Ambitions now merged 
into a common hostility towards me; and the Dominie 
himself unwittingly supplied an engine of persecu- 
tion. The circumstances were these : 

Within the week of my matriculation our class 
received an addilion in a tall, awkward, country 
lad. The first day of his appearance at recitation 
the usual question was put by the Dominie : 

“What is your full name, Master Berry son ?” he 


Thomas Ruffin. 


39 


asked, as, pencil and class-book in hand, lie made 
ready for an entry. 

“Benjamin Opedyke Berryson,” replied the lad. 

“Is Berryson spelled with a ‘y’ or an T V’ 

“ We spell with a ‘y,’ ” said the lad. 

“Some spell it with an ‘i,’ then?” remarked the 
Dominie, noticing the emphasis. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

The Dominie wrote down the name, and, as he 
completed it, spoke it to himself, slowly, disjunct- 
ively, and in a musing way (B. — O. — Ber.-ry.-son), 
scrutinizing the entry. Then suddenly looking up, 
with humor dancing in his eye, remarked : 

“ T and ‘y’ often replace each other, Master 
Berryson.” 

“Yes, Sir,” the lad responded. 

“And with this exchange did you ever reflect how 
your name reads backwards ?” 

“No, Sir.” 

“In ‘No, Sir,’ you make a beginning,” said the 
Dominie with a broad smile, “since the back reading 
is No-Sir-re-bob.” 

A roar of laughter followed. 

“It’s a habit of mine to read names backwards,” 
continued the Dominie, “and I make some funny 
finds. A few sessions ago we had in the class Edward 
C. Ivon — E. C. Ivon — a sharp, wide awake, city chap, 
who knew a thing or two. Novice is the name 
backwards.” 

Another roar greeted this. 

“And then we had Eldridge L. Peets — E. L. 


40 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Peets — a dumpy, squat little fellow. The back 
reading is steeple .” 

Another roar from the benches. 

The incident at once aroused interest in reverse 
renderings. Every name was turned about for a 
find. To get a fling,. those boys tried my own, who 
thought they had a grudge against me. Without 
avail, however, till the next day, when a remark let 
fall by the Dominie came to their aid. He was ex- 
plaining the Greek alphabet. Speaking of gamma, 
the letter answering to our u g,” he remarked casu- 
ally, that its form (7) resembled somewhat the lower 
half of the English Forthwith these boys 

tried my name with “g” replacing “f” and got a 
skit on me in “niggur” — pronounced by them 
“neegur !” 

As distinguished from epithets purposely insult- 
ing, mere nick-names originate in a certain degree of 
congruity — at least without it are scarcely maintain- 
ed. The ideas investing my own personel and “nig- 
gur” were absolutely opposed; for I was rather frail- 
looking — unusually clean and neat — and at a glance 
distinguished by a peculiar air of sensitiveness and 
delicacy. The term was so utterly incongruous it 
had no proper breath of life — a nothing — a reed 
shaken by the wind — a nine day’s college fad; and 
I should have extinguished its furtive indirect ut- 
terance by indifference. 

The fates willed otherwise. I was so excessively 
sensitive — born without a skin, as Hume said of 
Rousseau. I felt the fling profoundly, and winced 


Thomas Ruffin. 


41 


under it in such a way as to egg on the set of boys 
I have spoken of. Scarcely, too, had. they begun 
using “niggur,” when an incident gave the term 
currency. That is, the Prefect came to my aid — 
over the left. Having sharply threatened the flout, 
he was prompt to punish the first man caught 
offending. The punishment, indeed, was mild. But 
the offender was popular, the offense one never be- 
fore punished, and being of a nature, too, the boys 
considered unpunishable, they resented what they 
thought uncalled for discipline, and “niggur” with 
a vengeance came to stay. It would be bawled over 
campus. I would see it on blackboard margins. 
It would be spelled within my hearing. It was 
thrust on me in class-room notes. Missives contain- 
ing it were found beneath my pillow. Letters sent 
to L , to be mailed, had this single term “nig- 

gur.” It was poked at me, in short, from every 
quarter, and in almost every conceivable way. 

I sank under the persecution. O what sense of 
loneliness and helplessness ! One or two of the 
better disposed boys made advances — from pity, I 
suppose. My pride rejected them. Earnestly did 
the teachers try to check the grievance, and bring 
me into harmony with the college. In vain. Heart- 
sick, I could not rally. True, “niggur” soon died 
out. But it had made its deep, isolating impression. 
I shrank from any contact, and conceived a pro- 
found aversion towards everything around me. I 
had no share in the sports. All my recreations 
were solitary. The Indian clubs I swung alone. If 


42 


Thomas Ruffin . 


I played ball, the ball was my own, and the walls 
my companions. I wore a hunted, strained expres- 
sion. I would start at little noises, and fly into 
pieces on every occasion. The slightest provoca- 
tion, the least annoyance from the boys, would 
bring forth outbursts of passion. In a word : my 
temper was transformed. My life was a life apart. 

Perfect wretchedness is for the damned alone. 
There were offsets, or I should have lost my mind. 
One was anticipation of the Xtmastide, when I 
would be at home — my dear, dear, happy home. 
In a letter of this period (a preserved copy is now 
before me) I tell my Father that “almost one-fourth 
of the time to Xtmas has gone by already, and only 
three-fourths more.” One-fourth gone and only 
three-fourths more ! What pathetic simplicity ! 
What yearning between the lines ! I found myself 
continually turning eastward and looking out to- 
wards my home. Whenever I could, I would take 
a winding walk to the road entrance. Just within 
stood a giant Spanish oak. Selrachts’ was an ele- 
vated site. This, its highest point, whence to the 
east opened a clear and extended view. A seat en- 
circled the oak, and here I would sit alone, and look 
out towards my home. Eastward lay a succession of 
cultivated fields. Beyond and beyond in perspective 
rose the hills — while yet beyond, in the far smoky 
distance, the outline of the forest summit was 
thrown upon the horizon. This summit seemed to 
me the point of division between the dismal region 
in which I pined a captive, and a fair region be- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


43 


yoncl, where my home was and my friends. What 
longing eyes were bent eastward ! What thoughts 
arose of “home again!” I envied the wayfarers 
eastward, as I caught sight of them on the higher 
points of the white road- way, that here and there 
reappeared in its hilly course. O for the day and 
the hour, I would inwardly exclaim, when this gate 
would close behind me homeward bound ! And 
great choky lumps would swell in my throat. 

Another offset was my self-communings, of nights, 
in my dormitory cot. The dormitories occupied the 
fourth story. In the centre of this story was a large 
hall, sixty feet by fifty, used for theatricals and like 
purposes. On either side were the domitory attics, 
each forty by fifty feet, and eight feet high centrally. 
Great dormer windows admitted light through the 
sloping ceilings. I slept in the room next the mid- 
dle hall in the east end. My bed stood nearest the 
short passage joining the two dormitories on this 
side, and almost immediately beneath the internal 
window connected with a small partitioned* off apart- 
ment, in which the teacher slept who had charge of 
this room, and whence, as occasion required, he 
could look out upon the boys. 

At nine, when lights were out and I under cover, 
began one of the happiest — I mean, least unhappy - 
portions of the twenty-four hours. The worriments 
of the day were over. All so calm and peaceful. 
None to molest or make me afraid. My tormentors, 
bound in slumbers, lay still and harmless around 
me. I was free from persecution, and, what was 


44 


Thomas Ruffin. 


even more, its apprehension. It was this apprehen- 
sion that specially affected me. So sensitive was I 
to annoyance, that the dread of it kept me all the 
day long excited more or less and bewildered. 

What peace of mind I had this still, dark hour 
gave. It became my prayer hour. It drew to itself 
my devotions, and almost invariably brought tears 
that refreshed, really gladdened me. These devo- 
tions were the simple prayers of infancy, taught me 
by my mother. The central feature (I mean, in my 
own mind) was the superintendence of angels — a 
feature the cuts in the “big ha’ Bible” had great 
share in shaping. It was an heir-loom, this Bible, 
an ancient book, with borders embellished generally 
in vignette, in some instances filled in with Hol- 
bein’s Dance of Death, and the prints throughout 
were copious in angel representation. The volume 
was lost in the subsequent wreck. But I can see 
these prints now, every one of them, and vividly — 
the Angel comforting Hagar, the Angel and Manoali, 
the Angel appearing to Gideon, the Angel of the 
Lord smiting the Assyrian hosts, the Angel speak- 
ing to Zacharias at the altar of Incense, &c. &c. Of 
Sunday afternoons, in her low sweet voice, my 
mother would read passages she thought I might 
understand, and explain to me the prints. And of 
evenings, after the prayer at her knee had been said 
and I was tucked away in my little bed, she would 
recall these prints, and make use of them to illus- 
trate beautiful stories about the Angels —our own 
guardian Angel specially, how near this guardian 


Thomas Ruffin. 


45 


is, and liow dear he should be to us. It delighted 
me to hear them. Often have I lain awake dwell- 
ing on them, when my mother supposed I was fast 
in slumbers, and I would fall asleep encircled by 
their sweet influences. 

On a supersensitive spirit all this made a profound 
impression. Angel superintendence early became 
central in my spiritual consciousness. 

With advancing years and after my mother’s death 
the impression began to wax dim. It was now all 
vividly recalled. My head would be under cover, 
eyes closed, lids repeatedly forced firmly together, 
to press out welling tears — physically I was in dense 
darkness, yet a great and a burning light seemed 
round about me, and j)ro tec ting Angels appeared 
moving in it. Had I thrown the cover, my eyes 
would have opened on a heavenly radiance — so it 
seemed to me. With many weepings I said my 
prayers over and over. I wept, but I was really 
happy. It was a tender, sweet hour. All my 
thoughts were gentle and loving. I felt severe 
towards myself alone. I forgave the wrongs against 
me. I put all blame on my own silly weaknesses. 
In a state of mind positively ecstatic, I prayed 
for my tormentors, that they might bear another 
mind towards me— and to the Angels, always to be 
about me, protecting me— and fondly believed my 
surroundings would improve next day ; and in this 
hope at length would pass into sleep — peaceful, pro- 
found sleep, yet dreamy at first and confused with 
home glimpses and school glimpses and glimpses of 
Angels. 


46 


Thomas Ruffin, 


Woe is me ! I awoke upon a world whose king is 
Sorrow. This next day was like those before it. 
My tormentors were at me again. I grew hard and 
bitter again. Dark clouds hung over me again. 

Meanwhile Yon Selrachts had a watchful and kind 
eye. He spoke often and encouragingly. His keen 
perception must have recognized in my personality 
something altogether exceptional; for, towards the 
end of the first month he intimated a visit home, 
adding that he would write my Father, should I say 
so. I replied declaring my wish and purpose to 
make further trial — dying to return, yet unwilling 
to distress my Father, and piqued, withal, that my 
weak, troubled heart should be so bare. 

But matters grew worse and worse. There was a 
spell I could not break. I felt, too, my powers of 
application giving way. Dazed, deadened feelings 
began creeping over me. I feared the worst, and 
was on the point of seeking Von Selrachts, to accept 
his suggestion, when came a letter from my Father 
calling me home. Yon Selrachts had kept him fully 
informed, I am sure, and my Father saw I must 
leave. 

What transforming power in the suddent advent 
of a great and unexpected deliverance ! A torrent 
of delight sweep into and purges the soul. Hates, 
venoms, are no more — expelled through complete 
occupancy by an opposing sentiment. In a delirium 
of joy enemies are embraced, deepest wrongs forgiv- 
en. It is human nature’s summit — for the moment, 
pure spiritual existence — a glimpse of Heaven itself, 


Thomas Ruffin. 


47 


where the saints are perfectly good, because they 
are perfectly happy. As I read the letter a horrid 
veil fell from before my eyes. The weight on my 
spirit was gone. A Hood of light and joy rolled in. 
The darkened, disfigured world became fair again. 
I was transformed, intoxicated, and loved everybody 
and every thing around me. The sun shone brighter. 
The birds sang sweeter. The flowers took on another 
beauty. I mingled with the boys, and greeted them 
all with smiling confidence. And all the boys, 
astonished and gratified, seemed turned towards me. 
I had made no real enemies — thanks to my solitary 
ways. And when I threw off reserve under the im- 
pulse of a powerful sentiment, and extended an 
open hand, the boys met me more than half way. 
Some, perchance, that a rival would be removed. 
Some, it may be, to make amends for wrongs. 
Others, from the grace of human nature, since haj)- 
piness is catching, an echo from those remnants of 
pure charity still enshrined within the stranded 
soul. The revolution in my feelings was so com- 
plete, that the old college positively seemed dear, 
and the probability of return even began to take 
form. 

Early next morning I jumped into the stage; the 

morning after, rolled into L to a joyful wind 

from the driver’s horn; and with bounding heart 
sped on with Cupid to Cloud Cap— alas ! to receive 
into my arms a stricken Father. 


CHAPTER III 


THE OLD MEN’S HOME. 

John Ruffin’s swoon excited the liveliest sympa- 
thy, and for the moment the appalling character of 
the loss he had sustained, was forgotten in anxiety 
for his personal safety. To apply the smelling 
bottle and dash water into his face, was the work of 
an instant. There was no rally, however; and they 
began to think the case serious. A correct opinion; 
for in falling his head had struck violently the edge 
of the seat of a solid mahogany chair, causing severe 
cerebral concussion. He lay profoundly insensible, 
extremities cold, features ghastly, scarcely breath- 
ing. Mrs. Peale took charge, and, directing that 
the nearest Doctor be sent for post haste, promptly 
applied the simple remedies her good sense and 
practical experience suggested — she being an active 
member of more than one charitable institution, and 
having had occasion to minister in attacks of this 
kind. Friction by hand over thorax and upper 
limbs, cataplasm to abdomen, sinapisms to calves, 
with hot mustard bottles to feet, presently brought 
on some reaction. Consciousness returned, and the 


Thomas Ruffin. 


40 


patient was assisted to liis room. But the hothead, 
white tongue, and liushed turgid face were not reas- 
suring. By this time a neighbor Doctor had arrived. 
He was soon joined by the family physician from 
L . Putting their wise heads together they diag- 

nosed a probable encephalitis — prognonis grave. 
Whereby the laity may understand that Mr. Ruffin 
was threatened with brain fever, and recovery in 
doubt. The M. D.’s were not mistaken. Inflamma- 
tory symptoms, of aggravated type, supervened 
apace — intense pain over the head, fierce delirium, 
pupils like pins’ heads, wild and brilliant look, and 
a hard pulse rapidly shifting from 60 to 120. 

The old time heroics are administered — blood let- 
ting and hard purging with croton oil, leeches to 
temples and mastoid processes following the lancet. 
That John Ruffin survived was probably due to appli- 
cation of fresh water to the shaved head in the form 
of a slender and constant stream upon the vertex. 

On the third day the stage of collapse set in, with 
pallor, feeble and flying pulse, muttering stupor, 
and extreme debility. The physicians watch by the 
hour. Caps of blistering plaster are now applied to 
the head, and stimulants and restoratives exhibited. 

From the acute attack John Ruffin made a slow 
recovery, extending through months. With the 
return of consciousness the sense of his loss was 
overwhelming, and critical relapses occurred. Al- 
most invariably they were associated with the pres- 
ence of his son, on whom he would fasten his eyes 
in the most pitiful way and in tears bewail his con- 


50 


Thomas Ruffin. 


dition. So unhappy was the effect that for a jjeriod 
Thomas was compelled to deny himself to his 
Father’s room, save when he slept. 

At this juncture the most salutary attentions were 

those of the Episcopal Minister at L , a wise and 

devout man. At the earliest practicable moment he 
was admitted by direction of the physician, who saw 
that the patient’s suffering and danger were now 
mainly in mental and spiritual spheres, and more 
directly within reach of one skilled in the science of 
the soul. And when John Ruffin railed at the 
Divine wrath against him, himself done for, and his 
son of tender years stripped utterly bare, the pastor 
would reply, that God’s judgments are rather to be 
feared, not discussed — that after all the event might 
be for his son’s benefit — that inherited fortunes have 
so often proven fatal to youth, at once a temptation, 
and bar to development — that Thomas would now 
stand on his own feet, with every incentive to throw 
the scabbord away — that adverse circumstances 
would tend to strengthen his character and draw 
forth his full worth — and that the son might yet 
provide for the Father even better than the Father 
had thought to provide for the son. 

Conversations in this strain at repeated visitations 
exerted a soothing tendency. If not reconciled, 
John Ruffin became somewhat less despairing, and 
gradually bore his grief with fewer outbreaks. But 
cruel had been the blow, and the close of the third 
month saw*liim'a physical and mental wreck, aged 
and changed beyond the recognition of his nearest 


Thomas Ruffin. 


51 


friends. His hair and beard, grown long, were of 
snowy whiteness — his face blanched — frame bent — 
sight, hearing, memory impaired — intellect perma- 
nently weakened. The expression was one of child- 
ish imbecility — daft, as the Scotch would say. 

Meanwhile, the Peales had gone — Friend Peale, 
a few days subsequent to the attack, called home by 
business necessities — Mrs. Peale, several weeks later, 
when the violence of the attack was over — during 
which she had been a most assiduous and a most 
efficient nurse. 

The Sanfords, also, had all hurriedly left for New 
Orleans, almost immediately after the failure — to 
live there, it was said. They had sent repeated and 
most tender messages. Had all called, too; but saw 
none of the family. John Ruffin was denied abso- 
lutely to every one, save the nurse; and Thomas 
could not find it in his heart to meet those criminally 
resi)onsible, as he thought at that moment, for his 
Father’s ruin. On the eve of departure a heart- 
broken note came from Amy, saying they, likewise, 
had lost everything — that her Father was not to 
blame, having been deceived by the Manager — and 
bidding Thomas adieu. It smote him, then, that he 
had refused to see her. This note came in an envel- 
ope (a novelty in those days), square and of pinkish 
hue, and with a monagram formed by A S stamped 
upon the flap. 

It was true, as Amy said. The Sanfords had 
nothing left but a New Orleans residence, owned by 
“Aunt Sanford.” Later on, Thomas learned indi- 


52 


Thomas Ruffin. 


rectly that his Cousin Thomas had died grief-strick- 
en, and that Amy, her health failing in New Orleans, 
had obtained a position of some kind somewhere up 
North. 

John Ruffin’s deplorable condition dragged on 
through Si>ring and Summer, and gradually grew 
worse. The surroundings were a source of constant 
irritation. He had been an exceptionally kind 
Master. Between himself and the slaves existed a 
sincere and strong attachment; and when he would 
walk out, their manifestations of sympathy, signifi- 
cant though mute (for they had been forbidden to 
express them), deeply and harmfully affected him. 
Withal, he became morbidly sensitive to being 
recognized as having fallen so low, and conceived a 
violent aversion towards his friends and all who had 
known him. So the old man shut himself up in his 
room — saw scarcely any one but Thomas — and 
appeared verging upon a settled melancholia. The 
only thought which seemed to soothe, was one sug- 
gested by the pastor, that it was divinely ordered 
Thomas should provide for him. The physicians 
gave no hope of complete restoration under any cir- 
cumstances; but thought an absolute change of 
residence — new faces, new scenes — might possibly 
arrest progress towards an aggravated dementia, 
and prolong a helpless, harmless, and measurably 
happy life. 

Poor TJiomas ! What days and Vveeks — long, 
long, weary weeks — of watchings and hopings and 
sufferings ! The loss or fortune did not so deeply 


Thomas Ruffin. 


53 


touch him — he knew not then what it was to turn 
his back upon Cloud Cap — but his Father’s personal 
condition. A moving spectacle is that — a strong, 
flourishing man suddenly withered and laid low ! 
How much more, when the victim is a Father worthily 
and tenderly loved ! The trustful way in which the 
old man put himself under his care went straight to 
Thomas’ heart, and he made a solemn compact with 
himself then and there, to give his Father the chance 
the physicians held out. But, poor fellow ! how 
dismal the prospect, now that acute excitements 
were over, and the cold facts of the situation stood 
out clear ! Void of money or what money buys, the 
wheels of existence will absolutely cease to move; 
and out of an opulent fortune but five hundred dollars 
remained, a sum the exemption law allowed. Save 
some far off collaterals, too, between whom and 
himself intercourse had practically ceased, John 
Ruffin was the last representative of his house. His 
wife was from a distant state, where her family had 
become reduced. None there were on whom Thomas 
had any right to call for aid. He himself had no 
experience of men or things. In the brass or assur- 
ance many esteem the best business current coin, he 
was singularly deficient, as already shown. His 
entire commercial capital stood in good penmanship 
and a complete theoretical knowledge of book- 
keeping — the latter a branch of study he had pur- 
sued with penchant both under tutors and at Sel- 
raclits. A slim stock, truly, to challenge fortune 
with. Into his scale, however, can be thrown a pure 


54 


Thomas Ruffin. 


heart, and a high and a holy aim, and an impulse 
towards that broadening of character which the 
advent of responsibility tends to evolve. 

John Ruffin’s awful visitation, so sudden and 
complete, was on every one’s tongue, and roused 
profound sympathy. The pastor and other friends 
busied themselves in his behalf ; and it was their 
unanimous opinion, that a suitable home could be 
found only in some one of the many well-conducted 
charitable institutions in the large cities. They ad- 
vised Thomas forthwith to institute inquiries ; and 
he was revolving the matter, when came a letter of 
sympathy from Friend Peale (himself or his wife 
wrote regularly every week, or two), containing a 
suggestion in tine with the above advice. How op- 
portune, thought Thomas ! He’s the proper person 
to address touching a home for my Father — indeed, 
the very person himself. 

So that day he wrote Friend Peale, adding inqui- 
ries touching work of some sort for himself. In the 
kindest of letters Friend Peale replied by the next 
post, inclosing the last annual report on “The Old 
Men’s Home.’’ He described the institution as being 
under the control of prominent citizens, and one of 
the best of its kind, that he himself was a trustee 
and his wife an active manager, and that his Father 
would receive'every attention ; and further assured 
Thomas that he would be only too glad to do any- 
thing lie could to secure for him a position, in the 
event of his becoming a fellow-citizen. 

The general character of the report — the rigid 


Thomas Ruffin. 


55 


conditions of admission — the restrictions thrown 
around those admitted — and evident high-tone of the 
institution — all impressed Thomas favorably. The 
crowning recommendation was to see the names 
of Adam Peale and Martha Peale actually down in 
black and white in the list of trustees and managers. 
The admission fee — two hundred dollars for those 
between 60 and 65 (his father had just turned 60), 
with an additional one hundred dollars, when the 
applicant resided in another state — nearly consumed 
their little remnant of five hundred. However, 
Thomas thought he could surely get work of some 
sort for himself, and decided at once it was the very 
place for his Father. 

Eagerly seeking the. latter and opening the mat- 
ter, his anticipations were checked by his Father’s 
violently objecting to being in an institution to 
which Friend Peale stood related,- or even in the 
same city with him. But Thomas reasoned with 
his Father — assuring him he would never meet 
either Friend Peale or his wife against his will — 
that the change was absolutely necessary — that the 
physicians ordered it — that he must consent — and 
finally the old man became reconciled, submit- 
ting to his son, as called to provide for him. So 
Thomas wrote Friend Peale he would be on within 
a few days, to confer with him. 

Meanwhile, by order of the trustees the Court had 
appointed, Cloud Cap had been sold under the' ham- 
mer. The purchaser was a Mr. Kyle, New Orleans 
merchant and large creditor of Thomas Sanford & Co. 


56 


Thomas Ruffin. 


He bought all — plantation, slaves, and personal 
property; and so quietly was the auction conducted 
— to avoid harmful effects on John Ruffin — that the 
latter knew nothing of what was being done. Mr. 
Kyle, a kind-hearted gentleman and acquaintance of 
John Ruffin, was so moved by the latter’s misfor- 
tunes, that he voluntarily proposed to delay formal 
possession and let everything go on just as usual 
under the manager, until definite and final arrange- 
ments touching John Ruffin’s future should be made. 

It was the 16th of September, when Thomas left 
with the testimonials, &c., required by the terms of 
admission to The Home. Taking the steamboat at 

L he was transferred to a coast line sail at the 

seaport near the river’s mouth, and reached the city 
without event. A liackman was called, street and 
number given, and he was driven to the Peale resi- 
dence. Friend Peale was absent — at Boston on 
business. Mrs. Peale received him with the warmest 
demonstrations. Stay was limited ; since no one 
could take his place with his Father. After brief 
rest, therefore, Mrs. Peale accompanied him to The 
Home. 

The Old Men’s Home was a noble charity, one of 
the glories of the city, and under a name somewhat 
changed flourishes to-day. Its affairs were guided 
by a body of trustees, exclusively men, and a board 
of managers, exclusively women — all representative 
citizens. The practical administration was entirely 
in the hands of the ladies, who filled the offices from 
president down ; and the work in its various forms — 


Thomas Ruffin. 


57 


admissions and dismissals, purchasing supplies, 
soliciting aid, providing entertainment, &c., &c. — 
was portioned out among committees chosen from 
the board of lady managers. 

The building occupied an uptown corner lot by 
itself — a large rectangular, yellow brick structure. 
Eastward it aligned with the street. It fronted 
southward, and from the east and west street stood 
back fifteen or more yards. It was built about a 
rotunda with hip roof and sky light. The ground 
floor of this rotunda made a general sitting room, at 
whose upper end stood a plain reading stand and 
parlor organ for religious and like purposes. Galle- 
ries ran around the second and third stories, and 
upon these galleries the rooms of the inmates 
opened. A handsomely furnished apartment on the 
first floor, was the committee room. Back, were the 
kitchen and dining hall. Entrance to the sitting 
room was through a spacious vestibule. The facade 
was relieved by a brick wall built out from the cen- 
tral portion of the structure, and terminating in an 
ornamental gable. From this wall a brick portico 
projected, with arched openings in the three sides, 
and battlement roof. The area in front was beauti- 
fully set in grass and shrubbery. Diagonally oppo- 
site lay a lovely little park. Fine churches and the 
mansions of the wealthy adorned on every hand this 
elevation, and altogether it was a locality specially 
attractive. 

With its kindred institution — The Old Women’s 
Home, in another section of the city — The Old Men’s 


58 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Home met a special want. Pound everywhere are 
the ag6d, the indigent, the helpless, who have seen 
better days — too proud to beg, too refined and sen- 
sitive to mingle with occupants of the ordinary alms 
house. Among these The Home found its patronage. 
The strict scrutiny touching both admission and the 
admitted, guaranteed, as a class, high grade inmates. 

They made an interesting study, these inmates. 
Life with some had been uneventful — with others 
most varied and most tragic. A.11 were nearing its 
close, helpless and alone. The props had been knock- 
ed from under. Riches had made for itself wings. 
Tender ties had been ruptured. Loving firesides 
become a memory. Friends and kindred had gone 
early, or children taken before their time. The hand 
that would have toiled, the voice to cheer and com- 
fort, had long been still and silent in the grave. 
How despairing their lot but for ‘That most excel- 
lent gift of charity!” In The Home they had a 
meet resting place, ministered-to by woman’s sooth- 
ing care. Here they found peace — of ten- times hap- 
piness. — Reader, sudden and profound are life’s 
vicissitudes. Its one certainty is its uncertainty. 
Thou thyself mayest one day need such a refuge — 
or that dear child upon thy knee, may need it. Let 
us commend the noble charity to thy benevolence. 

If Thomas was pleased with every thing he saw, 
pleasure sprang into joy, when, through Mrs. Peale’s 
influence, special accommodations were secured for 
his Father. John Ruffin’s mental state and need of 
his son’s care really disqualified him for admittance. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


59 


But Mrs. Peale was a foremost member of the board. 
She represented that no doubt John Puffin would 
soon so improve at The Home, as to dispense with 
the services of Thomas, and drew a picture of the 
old man’s multiplied affliction, that went to the 
hearts of the managers. There is, too, a remote pos- 
sibility that Friend Peale’ s liberal yearly contribu- 
tion and the policy of not displeasing him, had some 
weight. So it was arranged that John Ruffin should 
have a commodious first floor east room, with private 
entrance to the street — that for the present at least, 
in his peculiar state of mind, meals should be 
served in his room — and that Thomas be allowed 
temporarily to occupy the room of nights, at a small 
extra charge. 

On their way back Thomas represented that his 
Father necessarily would have some needs beyond 
the accommodations of The Home — that the admit- 
tance fee would take more than half of the remnant 
of fortune remaining — and that of course he could 
not think of bringing his Father on, unless he him- 
self had work for his own support, &c. Mrs. Peale 
suggested that he might answer an advertisement; 
and, taking up the morning paper on reaching home, 
read in the “Help wanted” column : “A bank 

bookkeer at 222 North Gr St.” She knew little 

about that part of the street, she said — thought it 
was respectable — a recommendation was its being 
not very far from The Home — and proposed that 
Thomas call and inquire — adding, that at any rate 
’twould do no harm. So a passing ’bus was hailed, 


60 


Thomas Ruffian. 


and within twenty minutes, Thomas, accompanied 
by a servant, alighted at 222 North G St. 

He read over the door way, “Loan Office. ” What 
struck him was the symbol surmounting the sign — 
one whose significance he did not then understand 
— that of three golden balls. A symbol, be it 
known, which the first United States pawnbrokers 
brought over from England, as the first English 
pawnbrokers had brought from Lombardy in the 
sixteenth century, as the coat of arms of their 
family. For these pawnbrokers were related to the 
then rising house of the Medici — originally medical 
men, as the name imports, or rather apothecaries — 
afterwards renowned for the extraordinary number 
of statesmen it produced, and its magnificent patron- 
age of literature and art, and by legislative enact- 
ment had already been allowed to bear as coat of 
arms the golden balls that advertised the pills of 
their ancestors. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE PAWNBROKER. 

The chief owner and managing head of this estab- 
lishment (the Loan Office mentioned, in the preceding 
chaj)ter), was Isaac Dalguspin, commonly and 
jocosely called the Banker , as the not unfrequent 
source of forced loans even to respectable parties in 
a pinch. Recently, he had purchased the charter 
privileges of a company composed of benevolent 
gentlemen, who had attempted to establish a form of 
the Mont de PieU — a movement made in the interest 
of the poor. Pawnbrokerage in the United States, 
then, as now, was modeled closely on that in Eng- 
gland, with loose methods and under social ban. 
It’s a pity; for the pawn-shop holds a legitimate 
place in the body politic. It meets a necessary 
social want — properly conducted, is a form of benev- 
olence. There are crises, when the poor man is 
sorely pressed for a little money — when he must 
have it, to tide over the exigency, or ruin breaks 
upon himself and family. His sole recourse is the 
sign of the three balls, which supjdies a peculiar 
class of borrowing facilities. The pawn-shop is the 
needy man’s Bank. 


62 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Bat through the operation of unworthy laws in 
unworthy hands, the pawner is skinned in the trans- 
action. The pawn-broker’s cupidity is devouring, 
with his four to six per cent, a month, and expenses. 
In France and on the continent of Europe generally, 
it is otherwise. The Mont de Piete prevails. This 
institution originated in the fifteenth century in 
the pious invectives of Francisco di Viterbo. Out- 
raged at the mercile'ss exactions of the usurers — 
that third power of the middle ages which shared 
sovereignty with the church and the state, and 
which Scott has represented in Isaac of York — this 
barefooted Minorite Friar strode into the market 
place of Padua, among the tables of the money- 
changers, and thundered out his anathemas. The 
result resembled that, when the Master Himself 
purged the Temple. The usurers grabbed their 
bags and slunk off. The people prolonged the cry. 
Wealthy and benevolent citizens took up the cause 
of the poor, and a Mont de PieU was established, 
with a low interest rate (to cover necessary ex- 
penses ) for money advanced on the pawner’s 
pledge. Patronized by the church, encouraged 
by the state, the institution rapidly spread, save 
in England, so slow to innovate. 

The Mont de Piete eventually lost its purely pious 
character. In France, Italy, and elsewhere on the 
Continent, it is now supported by the funds of the 
state, and operated under public control. Still, as 
a vast improvement on the methods of the usurer, 
as the deadly foe of the old pawn-broker, the insti- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


63 


tution is essentially charitable. It is thoroughly 
respectable, too. Transactions with it are totally 
devoid of furtive features, as much so as entering 
a bank to have a note changed. Its patrons, for the 
most part, are the very poor, as may be supx>osed. 
Yet men of substance and character, temporarily 
pressed, do not disdain openly to seek its aid ; and 
ladies of high life not unfrequently find it conveni- 
ent. As Summer approaches, they will pawn their 
line furs and other winter wear — use the money to 
swell the outing fund — and in the Fall receive back 
their valuables, minus the sum advanced and a 
trifling interest, as well as the ravage of the moth. 

In the year 1829, as the municipal records show, 
a Company of charitably disposed gentlemen intro- 
duced into the city we have spoken of, the Mont de 
PieU , under the name of “The Lombard Associa- 
tion.” It continued for a few years. Then wound 
up. Did not pay. “Lombard” was a handicap. 
The odor of the pawn shop hung around it repul- 
sively. The Charter, by terms, was transferable, 
and Dalguspin & Co bought its privileges; with 
right to change the name to “Loan Office.” There 
was a provision in the Charter ( — it had not been 
utilized — ) for operating a Savings Bank in connec- 
tion with pawn-brokerage. This Dalguspin put 
in force, doing business at the old stand. He 
partitioned off a section of the spacious pawn-shop 
and fitted it up handsomely, with street entrance, 
and a sign : “The Wage Earners’ Savings Bank.” A 
number of considerations led to the purchase. The 


64 


Thomas Ruffin. 


discussion connected with the establishment and 
operation of “The Lombard Association” had raised 
a hue and cry against pawn-brokers, and it was sur- 
mised the City Council would overhaul the whole 
business, lower percentage, and draw tighter the 
restrictions. Furthermore, Dalguspin thought he 
saw in any event better profits in the change. 

So far, apparently, events had justified the fore- 
cast. Dalguspin nowadays seemed unusually Hush. 
He had made money already at the old business ; 
for our cities are rich fields for such fellows. The 
characteristics of American society — fast feverish 
features, fondness for finery, fickle fluctuating for- 
tunes — all tend powerfully to fill the shelves of the 
pawn-broker. But the recent boom’s bottom was 
supposed to be connected with the Savings Bank, 
this being the only visible change in his business, 
to account for the sudden and marked change in 
circumstances. The deposits ranged from one to 
five hundred dollars, and therefor five per cent, 
certificate's at twelve months would be given, the 
depositors generally being small tradesmen who 
preferred these certificates to temporary investment 
in real estate or the public funds. The true source, 
however, of Dalguspin’ s being in so full feather, 
was successful gambling, into which he had been 
drawn by a crony, with whom he was strangely in- 
fatuated, and of whom the reader will hear again, 
one James Noals. 

With the increase of fortune unlooked for changes 
developed in Dalguspin’ s bearing and surroundings; 


Thomas* Ruffin. 


65 


for he appeared spruced up, affected to be somebody, 
and to the surprise of all who knew him, had bought 
a mansion, though a bachelor, and supported a style. 
The purchase, it may be added, was a profitable 
investment, or probably it would not have been 
made; though Dalguspin was a real Banker' now in 
some sort of sense, and knew no doubt the commer- 
cial value of environments. 

Thomas looked again at the slip he had cut from 
the newspaper, to be sure of the number, and en- 
tered. A clerk behind the main counter was engaged 
with one or two shop girls and domestics. It was a 
large, square, dingy, forbidding looking room, with 
a very stale odor. A broad screen stood within, 
immediately before the door-way. Back of the 
front counter was a great iron safe. All round the 
room, up to the ceiling, ran series of shelves, in 
compartments, and more or less filled with packages. 
Cards here and there hung upon the walls, in con- 
spicuous print, and cautionary: “All transactions 
strictly private in this office” — “No goods taken 
from minors, without express consent of parents or 
guardians” — “If ticket should be lost, party must 
give bond and security for redemption of goods, &c., 
&c.” Odd looking Bank, thought Thomas to him- 
self. By this time, too, its stale odor began to take 
effect, and he felt a chill creeping over him. His 
turn having how come, he replied to the hard feat- 
ured clerk, saying he had called in answer to the 
advertisement, and showed the slip. The clerk 
glanced again at him— then disappeared by a side 


66 Thomas Ruffin. 

door — by which door, a moment later, Dalguspin 
shuffled in. 

Thomas drew back in astonishment, so different 
was Dalguspin from the person he had pictured to 
himself, as having advertised for a Bank book- 
keeper. His comjffexion was the swarthiest — so much 
so that by those who did not call him the Banker , 
he was individualized as Black Isaac. The nose 
was sharp and slightly arched. Eyes small and deep 
sunk. A long somewhat pointed chin. The general 
expression a combination of hawk and owl — pene- 
tration and eagerness, with shyness and distrust. 
The impression on Thomas was anything but pleas- 
ing. Lavater promptly would have called the face, 
that of a crafty, designing man, totally devoid of 
honor. 

Dalguspin bent his eyes upon Thomas, and immedi- 
ately invited him into the Bank , the agreeable ap- 
pearance of which, in contrast with that of the pawn- 
shop, was inspiriting. In a few moments he had 
drawn from Thomas a complete history of himself 
and family — of his Father’s former estate, of his 
present affliction, his object in visiting the city, his 
relation to Friend Peale, and the difficulty in which 
the Quaker’s absence now placed him. The Pawn- 
broker’s penetration saw before him an open, artless 
youth, without the experience in bookkeeping lie 
desired, yet in straits, and whom he thought he 
could easily control and might in more ways than 
one make useful, and in his own mind determined 
to take him. They at once proceeded to a discus- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


67 


sion of the terms, in arranging which the facility 
was clearly on Dalguspin’s side. 

“The ad. has been in but two days,” said the 
usurer, as he rang up the clerk in the pawn-shop 
— “by ad. I mean advertisement,” he remarked 
parenthetically, answering an inquisitive look from 
Thomas — “yes, but two days, and I’ve had over a 
hundred applications.” 

Thomas’ look of surprise assured the Pawn-broker 
he had made the desired impression. The latter 
whispered to the clerk, who had now entered, and 
then asked with hypocritical suavity : 

“What wage, my young friend, do you expect?” 

“Whatever is fair, replied Thomas. “Something 
I can live on.” 

“Ah! Something to live on ! That depends. One 
can live very dear in a city, or on very little — noth- 
ing almost — fifty cents a week.” 

“Young man wants to see you about the ad.,” 
cried out the clerk, popping in his head at the side 
door. 

“Tell the young man to wait,” said the Boss. 

“What do you pay bookkeepers?” inquired 
Thomas in a shy sort of way, as if asking the ques 
tion placed him under an obligation to the usurer. 

“Ah! that depends, too. You see you have no 
practical experience, you tell me, and business men 
never employ bookkeeps to learn them to keep 
books,” replied Dalguspin, as a mischievous looking- 
little smile at his humorous attempt played over the 


68 Thomas Ruffin. 

swarthy features. “What say you to a dollar a 
week ?” 

“A dollar!” exclaimed Thomas. “Why, Mrs. 
Peale said I should not take less than four dollars a 
week, to begin with.” 

“But I throw in a room, remember.” 

“A room !” 

“Yes, I require my bookkeeper — or rather my last 
clerk — to have a room in the Bank” 

“But I’m to occupy my Father’s room of nights, 
you know.” 

“As I understand you, that arrangement is tem- 
porary only. In any event, my young friend, you 
must have a room of your own. Where will you 
put your things ? Where will you eat ? Do you 
propose to board out 3 With a room you might 
board yourself at fifty cents a week, if you chose.” 

“Could I see the room?” Thomas inquired. 

“It’s out of order at present. I assure you it’s all 
right. High up and healthy, and ready furnished. 
Worth twelve dollars a month, or three dollars a 
week” (the garret roost would have been dear at one 
dollar) — “and this, with the one dollar, meets 
Mistress Peale’ s terms, eh?” 

“This is for a beginning, then, as I understand, 
Sir?” asked Thomas, with symptoms of surrender. 

“Of course, my friend,” the Pawn-broker unctu- 
ously replied. “You must bear in mind that I’m to 
teach you practical bookkeeping. Certainly, you 
will be advanced, just as you co-operate and show 
yourself useful.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 69 

Here the head of the pawn-shop clerk popped in 
again : 

“Another young man, Sir, about the ad.” 

“Let ‘another young man’ wait, too,” the Boss 
replied in high key, as if annoyed by these inter- 
ruptions. 

Thomas pondered, as Black Isaac sat with fingers 
locked and twiddling the thumbs. The former re- 
flected, that a dollar a week would leave him no 
margin either for his Father, or his own needs. But 
he would make every effort to please his employer 
— would be soon advanced, no donbt — a room he 
must have, he saw — above all, it was the only op- 
portunity. So, to the Pawn-broker’s question: 

“Come, my friend, what do you say ? Others are 
waiting ” 

He promptly answered : 

“I accept the terms.” 

“ Very well,” said the Banker , with marked stress 
on the adjunct. “You get a place many are seek- 
ing, you see. It only remains that you sign the 
papers.” 

To Thomas’ look of inquiry he replied : 

“Yes, my young friend, it is necessary you should ' 
give bond in three hundred dollars, to remain with 
me at least a year.” 

“I cannot,” demurred Thomas, intones of mingled 
surprise and disappointment — “I cannot sign papers 
I do not fully understand, without consulting my 
friends.” 

“It’s all very plain,” rejoined the Pawn-broker 

* 


70 


Thomas Ruffin. 


suavely. “You see I’m to learn you the business; 
and for my services it’s proper I should have some 
hold on the party. I know your word’s as good as 
your bond. But it’s city custom, my young friend 
— it’s business. And there’s no risk whatever — not 
the least. It’s very much of a form. At the end of 
the term the agreement ceases. You then will have 
learned all the business — your wages will have risen 
— the contract expires by limitation — and you will 
be free, perfectly free either to remain with me, or 
to leave ” 

“Let me speak of this to Mrs. Peale,” interjected 
Thomas, as the Pawn-broker made a momentary 
pause. 

“It’s scarcely possible, my dear Sir,” came the 
oily answer. “I am to see a young man presently, 
to whom I’ve partially committed myself.” 

“Could you give me an hour?” Thomas asked. 

“I’m to see this party within the hour, and he 
must have the place, if you don’t take it,” rejoined 
Dalguspin, looking at his watch. 

The side door again opens, and the head pops in : 

“Two more gents about the ad.” 

“Come in, John,” said the Banker. 

“Yes, Sir,” responded the clerk, as he entered 
and stood just within the doorway. 

“Shut that door.” 

John obeyed, with hand upon the knob. 

“If many more come, John, you’ll scarcely have 
room to hold them all,” said the usurer, with that 
mischievous little smile of his. “Tell these young 


Thomas Ruffin. 


71 


men,” he continued, in lowered, confidential tone, 
“I am engaged. They can return an hour hence.” 

“Yes, Sir,” responded John, as he quickly disap- 
peared. And then many voices were heard in the 
next room, and much moving about and shuffling 
of feet, and rapid opening and closing of the front 
door ; and John — applying the point of the left 
thumb to the extremity of the nose and vibrating 
the fingers, while he stepped it a tiptoe in saucy 
style — retired from another successful exhibition of 
the training he had got from the Pawn-broker. 
(John, by the way, was thinking of setting up shop 
for himself). 

Meanwhile, Thomas was in a profound study. 
The sole thing he was in any sense fitted for, was 
bookkeeping — his knowledge of this, theoretical 
only — he could get no position without experience, 
it appeared — and this experience he could obtain 
right here. The place, too, must have some special 
advantages, he thought, so very many were seeking 
it. When would a chance like this offer again % 
And it was Hobson’s choice, he further reflected — 
this or none. The state of his purse would not 
allow another visit to the city on such an errand. 

The Pawn-broker saw the scales wavering toward 
his side, and the moment ripe for a coup de grace , 
and remarked: 

“222 is not far from The Home. ThaV s a consid- 
eration.” 

Thomas looked up at the speaker, and then 
looked down again, as the latter went on : 


72 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“And, young man, as you’ve caught my fancy, I’ll 
begin advancement right now, and raise the wage 
fifty cents, making it a dollar and a half a week.” 

Thomas was captured. The indentures (copies 
whereof Black Isaac kept ready for clerks, having 
had difficulty in retaining them) were brought forth. 
Thomas read over the contract. It was smoothly 
worded ; and, perceiving no objection, he affixed his 
signature — then accompanied Dalguspin to the office 
of a magistrate hard by and made affidavit — next, 
the paper was taken to the Record office and record- 
ed— and the transaction, making him an indentured 
clerk, was complete. 

On the way back to the Peales,’ Thomas indulged 
in reflections altogether of a self-satisfying charac- 
ter. He had secured a position and settled the 
matter of his Father’s coming, and all by himself, 
too. In a year he’d be master of a calling, with 
control of the market, in a sense, and could look 
round for a better place, if need be. Meanwhile, 
he could squeeze out a living, with a little margin 
for his Father, lie hoped. 

Mrs. Peale’-s first glance read good news in his 
eyes, and she saluted him all in smiles. When 
Thomas told her he had gotten a place, she express- 
ed her gratification most warmly. When she heard 
it was with a real Banker, she was positively de- 
lighted. When he mentioned the terms, she check- 
ed up somewhat, and considered it a bargain for the 
Banker, unless the room was much better than he 
had occasion for. When he told her he llad bound 


Thomas Huffin. 


73 


himself for twelve months to a stranger, and showed 
his copy of the indenture, she opened wide her 
eyes. When she read in the bond the name of Dal- 
guspin, she paused, looked grave, and spoke the 
name aloud deprecatingly — then, reassured, re- 
marked, that she knew by hearsay of one by that 
name, but there were others no doubt of the same 
name in the city. When she asked for description's, 
to identify, and Thomas spoke of the sign with its 
strange devise of three golden balls, suddenly and 
very visibly her face darkened. Yet for a moment 
only. She was aware of the impression she was 
making. She saw the guileless youth had been 
caught. She remembered, though, having heard her 
good man speak of Dalguspin’s recent sudden rise 
of fortune, and his being connected with some 
moneyed institution of creditable character, if she 
was not mistaken. Possibly the hole might not be 
as deep and dark as her fears imagined. She would 
let her good man explain, and would herself put the 
best face upon the inevitable. If other considera- 
tions drew her towards Thomas Ruffin, now penni- 
less and more than orphaned, they were deepened at 
the spectacle of this ingenuous youth taken in on so 
pious a mission by a crafty usurer. A mother over 
an afflicted child, could not have manifested more 
tender sympathies. So the good woman brightened 
up and redoubled her attentions. She spoke to 
Thomas encouragingly — promised to have Friend 
Peale write at once — and advised that his Father be 
brought on without delay. 


74 


Thomas Ruffin. 


The effect on Thomas was cheering. He thanked 
Mrs. Peale for her kindness again and again— bade 
her inform the President of the receiving commit- 
tee, that arrangements were complete for his Father’s 
coming — and left that afternoon for home with a 
heart far lighter than when he entered the city. 

Within the second week of his arrival he received 
from Friend Peale the following letter: 

Sept. 183 

“Dear Thomas: 

I am just back. Sorry, sorry, sorry, missed see- 
ing thee ! Martha has told me all, and I write 
without a moment’s delay. 

Deeply do I regret thee felt compelled to bind 
thyself to a total stranger. But the thing’s done. 
I have seen the papers at the Record office, and 
there is no escape. It is an unfortunate step, 
Thomas, I am bound to say; yet I beg of thee not to 
be unduly troubled. Thee was confronted by diffi- 
culties, I know; and it may end well, after all. 

It is my plain duty to speak without reserve of 
the man to whom thou art bound. Thee must know 
every circumstance before the service begins. 

Dalguspin has been a licensed pawn-broker and 
professional usurer, and thee knows what that 
means. I can say has been ; for a year and more 
ago he purchased — rather, was mainly instrumental 
in purchasing — the charter rights of what was known 
in this city as The Lombard Association, under which 
he now operates a Savings Bank, continuing pawn- 
brokerage as regulated by the terms of the charter. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


75 


As chief of the pawn-brokers, Dalguspin has been 
notorious in this city, without position or influence, 
prominent only as first among a low class of dealers, 
accounted shrewd, supposed to have more or less 
money, lived secluded in his pawn-shop, and, as it 
not unfrequently happened that genteel parties, 
under temporary pressure and without available 
commercial securities, applied to him for loans, he 
was jestingly known among business men as the 
Banker — a title he singularly affects. 

The bad odor of the pawn-shop we all know. 
Almost universally it is run by unworthy men, who 
are hardened again by constant contact with unfor- 
tunates, outcasts, and the vicious. I cannct say 
that Dalguspin has been above his class and the 
tendencies of the calling. By hook or by crook he 
drives a trade with every one, as he did with thee. 
I remember his figuring in some questionable trans- 
actions. But the law, I believe, has never reached 
him. 

I speak of Dalguspin particularly, as he was. 
Within the past eighteen months a marked change 
has occurred — outwardly, at least. It began with 
the purchase of the Lombard Association Charter. 
That institution was in the hands of representative 
citizens and thoroughly worthy; and doubtless an 
element of respectability passed over to the busi- 
ness under its new name of “Loan Office” and “Wage 
Earners’ Savings Bank.” 

I can say, too, it’s rumored, that Dalguspin has. at 
his back certain substantial citizens, who have faith 


76 


Thomas Ruffin. 


in his ability to make the enterprise successful. 
Secret aid from such a source, while it shows on the 
part of these citizens due regard for their reputa- 
tion, must be considered somewhat lifting to Dal- 
guspin, who has had no reputation. In fact, he has 
felt flattered, and been led to improve his surround- 
ings, and give evidence of a wealth which it had not 
been thought he was possessor of. For nowadays 
he dresses well — is seen upon the street — has made 
valuable investments — and occupies a residence on 
an avenue with regulation outfit. 

I know him. That is, we speak in passing — no 
more. I hope change in the moral status commonly 
given him, has been as radical as in these outward 
things. 

These, Thomas, are the short and simple annals of 
his character. 

N ow, I know, my son, all this will greatly shock 
thee. Biit the shock would have been greater and 
serious, had thee come hither without information. 
In my anxiety to state the case fully, I may have 
overstated it. And yet, it may in some way be all 
for the best. Who knows \ Certainly, the twelve 
months will soon pass, and thee may retire without 
disadvantage — possibly with gains. It all depends 
on thyself, and I feel sure thee will not be wanting. 
Dalguspin will employ thee in the Bank , I suppose. 
The work will scarcely be heavy. One thing thee 
must guard against — don’t let him use thee for un- 
worthy or dishonorable ends. I have an impression 
of street rumors charging him with having gotten 


Thomas Ruffin. 


77 


his employees into trouble, or attended to do so. 
Be absolutely clean; and should Dalguspin make 
improper advances, thee would not only have just 
ground for leaving, but of sustaining legal action 
against him. I trust there is little cause for apx^re- 
liension. Let us hope the tricks Dalguspin may 
have been given to in other days, he would be above 
in these, now that he is somewhat of a real Banker. 

My dear son, I’ve felt it my bounden duty to tell 
thee all this. But there is something I am abso- 
lutely unable to tell thee — the depth of the sympathy 
and affection Martha and I have towards thy Father 
and thyself. The former I have known for years. 
His affliction is daily before me. It touches me as 
that of a brother. Bring him on at once. At The 
Home everything shall be done for him. And for 
thyself, my dear son, remember that we shall be 
near to thee here in every way, and that I am ready 
to stand full handed behind thee. 

Martha sends a loving message; and may the God 
of all counsel and comfort abide with thee at all 
times and in all places. 

Adam Peale.” 

As Thomas read this communication his heart 
sank within him. He was so stunned and chilled by 
the first lines, that the warmth and cheer of the last 
made no impression, and he threw the letter from 
him in despair. But he reflected. A second read- 
ing was not so cold and dismal. A third, and light 
glimmered. And when for the fourth time he read 
it collectedly, the letter was all brightened up by 


78 


Thomas Ruffin. 


the kind-hearted Quaker’s closing sentiments, like 
the evening clouds by the setting Sun’s effulgent 
rays. 

His resolution was taken. The arrangements for 
leaving, not of an elaborate character, were already 
under way. They were now sj)eedily completed, 
and the next day, at 10 A. M., was decided upon for 
the departure. 

A personal word here touching Thomas Ruffin : 
Within the past eight months decided change had 
come over him. He still carried sensibility on his 
sleeve — was still notably shy and retiring. But a 
sense of responsibility had exerted a tendency to 
broaden and establish him, evidently. Grief, too, 
had settled on his brow. Deep it was; yet the cir- 
cumstances of his Father’s twin affliction obviated 
in a degree sudden shock from either. While life 
hung in the balance, his attention was distracted 
from the temporal loss, and its magnitude approach- 
ed dimly from a distance, as it were. At the same 
time, the dethronement of reason grew upon him 
gradually, the subject of hope and fear through 
watching, weary weeks and weeks. 

His personal appearance was engaging. The dark 
brown eyes were full and tender. An apparent 
weight of responsibility upon delicate shoulders, 
roused sympathy. In its general expression the 
countenance was pensive, and the smile that often 
played over it, one of singular sweetness. 

The next day would be the last at Cloud Cap ! 
Thomas could scarce realize it. Other matters, 


Thomas Ruffin. 


79 


weighty and pressing, had kept him in such a whirl, 
he had not given this thought consideration. But the 
hour of severance from scenes so full of the happiest 
associations, had really come. He rose early and 
walked forth. The storm of the equinox had passed 
the evening before —of unusual severity. For forty- 
eight hours it blew great guns, and discharged 
floods, leaving in its wake clear, bracing weather. 
It was a fine autumnal morning, towards the close 
of September — the atmosphere so fresh and pure. 
Just the gentlest ripple of air played by starts 
through the trees, a sear and yellow leaf here and 
there falling before it. The sun was half hour high, 
sharply outlined in the slightly hazy horizon. His 
light was lessened, yet sufficient to deck the dewy 
grass that sparkled again in the slanting rays like 
stretches of brilliants. “Ilka blade had its drap,” 
and dipped with a “diamond in its head.” 

Thomas sought for adieu the fields and the woods 
of his rambles, the scenes of sylvan sport and 
pleasure. It had been long since he had visited 
them — such was the pressure. They appeared to 
him to have voices, and greeted him on every hand. 
Here in this thicket he was wont to set his partridge 
traps. The space he had cleared was all bare, save 
some scattered slats, remnants of a wreck, and Bob 
White hard by was piping cheerily. Down there at 
the branch his dams would be built and the flutter 
wheels run. The flood of the equinox had swept 
every vestige away, and the gurgling stream seemed 
to be laughing in its liberty. He entered a wood. 


80 


Thomas Ruffin. 


It was full of sweet memories ; for this was Amy’s 
favorite walk. Here, beneath that ancient spread- 
ing oak, was the rustic seat his hand had made for 
her. Yonder were the carnations, from a child his 
favorite flower, that Amy had given him ; and be- 
yond, in the border himself had prepared, was the 
rose her own hands had planted, now a splendid 
Bon Silene ; for the gardener knew it and had given 
his special care. Its last, brilliant, carmine blooms 
were fading, yet still loading the dewy air with 
“Sabean odors.” Where was Amy now ? An orphan, 
and earning her bread among strangers, he had 
heard! Did she think of him ? Would they ever 
meet again? What changes! What changes! he 
murmured. Sorrow is king here ! 

As he turned to retrace his steps, an upper whirl 
of air caught for a moment a growth of lofty pinfes 
before him. Their summits swayed, and with that 
X^eculiar weird and wailing sough this flora gives, 
when its needles are swept by the breeze. It seemed 
to Thomas a nod and sigh of farewell, and was a 
spark to the train of his emotions. The flood of 
feeling gave way that had been gathering. He stood 
and wept. Then hastened back with lighter heart. 
The baggage had all been sent on. Everything was in 
readiness. At nine hi s Father, bidding adieu to none, 
entered a close carriage — was driven rapidly to L. — 
went aboard the boat — and made an easy, inexpen- 
sive, uneventful journey to the city, where his and his 
son’s fortunes will be told in the chapters following. 


CHAPTER V. 

NEW HOMES. 

The November morning opens dark and surly. 
The wind had settled in the North. Leaden lower- 
ing clouds stretch over the heavens — a dismal vault, 
belted along the horizon by bluish fringe. Milk 
carts rumbled noisily over frozen cobbles. Few seek 
the streets. Early errand women step briskly, 
shawled and hooded, and workmen trudge along to 
their tasks muffling great coats close about the 
neck. By nine the storm breaks. Cold, cold, cold ! 
Blow, blow, blow ! And the snow is coming down 
thick and fast in whirls and zigzags and curling 
sheets from wind-swept housetops. By noon the 
storm had passed, leaving the day perfectly fair. 
Three inches of snow had fallen, the first of the sea- 
son. A rising temperature follows the passing of 
the cloud. The atmosphere grows foggy, and 
through the snow-patched branches of the park trees 
the eye may dare November’s sun, sweeping low 
above the southern horizon. 

The afternoon of this day John Ruffin and Son 
regphed the city. It was Thomas’ first impression 
6 


82 


Thomas Ruffin. 


of a snow scene. He had witnessed occasional flakes 
of snow. He had never seen before the whole earth 
spread over by a mantle of pure white — to him a 
most striking and a most beautiful revelation. A 
cab was called, and they were taken at once to The 
Home. 

At this particular time the institution was under 
the executive control of the board of lady managers. 
The superintendent had been uniformly of the other 
sex. But the last masculine representative did not 
get on well with the inmates. Finally, he was dis- 
missed; and while the managers were looking round 
for a successor, they placed in charge, under their 
immediate supervision, the housekeeper, Catherine 
Sullivan — or Miss Kitty, as she was commonly 
called. 

Miss Kitty was a genuine, unhewn, worthy Irish- 
woman, with the richest brogue — fair, fat, and forty 
— or, to run it on the p’s, pretty, plump, and pleas- 
ing — rough and resolute of spirit, yet kindly withal. 
In the chance opportunities from time to time 
afforded, she had displayed executive talent; and 
when given this new position, as a temporary expe- 
dient, managed the old men as cleverly as she did 
the economies of the institution. 

As already mentioned, Mrs. Peale had secured for 
John Ruffin certain special privileges at The Home; 
and her good will she further manifested by herself 
furnishing his room. It was a large, commodious, 
first floor apartment, rather off by itself, with two 
inner doors; one connected with a lavatory and 


Thomas Ruffin. 


88 


bath — the other, with a vestibule; and a private ex- 
ternal entrance, besides, opening immediately on the 
north-and-south street. The appointments were 
plain, but neat. An art square took the place of a 
carpet, purposely chosen, to be readily removed and 
shaken. On the left was a bureau. Near this a 
stand with a clock. On the right was the bed, and 
under it a cot, rolled out of nights for the use of 
Thomas. The stove was a heater, but with arrange- 
ments for plain cooking, if need be. And there 
were chairs and sofa, &c., &c. All simple, but in 
every way genteel — by no means luxurious, and yet 
what wealth, with severe taste, might choose — and 
so of a character to spare the occupant unpleasant 
contrasts. 

The physicians at L had impressed upon 

Thomas the absolute necessity of his Father’s having 
manual employment of some kind, to occupy and 
relieve the mind. What it should be was now a 
most serious problem. Happily, his Father himself 
solved it, and spontaneously. . From the beginning, 
when the question of removal to the city began to be 
discussed, John Ruffin repeatedly had expressed his 
wish and purpose to do something to help Thomas get 
along. At first no attention was paid to the notion. 
Thomas, however, soon saw it was set in his Father’s 
mind, and encouraged it, as in line with the physi- 
cians’ injunction. The old man would dwell and 
dwell upon the idea. It came to possess him, this 
notion of doing something to help along. And no 
sooner had he become settled at The Home, than it 


84 


Thomas Ruffin. 


took shape, when he declared that something should 
be bottoming chairs. It was a shock to Thomas — 
probably, because associated with negro life. But 
he reflected it was the only thing hi£ Father could 
do — certainly, for the present, at least. And it was 
a final consideration, that his Father, who long and 
secretly had been cherishing the notion, was rigidly 
bent towards it and absolute in the expression of 
his purpose, to do this particular work. 

So, another problem arose: How would he get 
patrons ? This, too, presently received solution, 
through the agency of one Sandy Johnson. 

Sandy Johnson was a curly haired, bullet headed, 
freckled faced Scotchman, with yellow lockt and 
zanthous temperament. Sandy was a man sui gene- 
ris. When sentiments of an agreeable character 
were addressed to him, he had a peculiar way, all 
his own, of accompanying the sentiment with a 
sympathetic motion of lips, eyes, and features gener- 
ally — the most noticeable movement being a quick 
side to side play of the head. He was clean shaven, 
save a full, bushy, overhanging moustache that had 
become sufficiently saturated with nicotine, and had 
brushed acquaintance with soup and such like often 
enough, to justify the use of the individual com- 
munion cup. In earlier life he had been a resident 

of L where he enjoyed quite a reputation for 

making puns and rhymes, as well as boots, his nor- 
mal vocation. In one of Friend Peale’s business 
visits to L a point he cultivated as being a dis- 

tributing centre for an extensive back country with 


Thomas Ruffin. 


85 


a rich trade — the jolly Quaker happened to make 
Sandy’s acquaintance through the medium of a 
ripped boot. He was attracted by the Scotchman’s 
ready humor— made inquiries touching his charac- 
ter — learnt from Sandy himself he was not succeed- 
ing as he would wish — and the upshot was, that, 
upon Friend Peale’s representation in a correspon- 
dence following, Sandy packed up awls, pegs, &c., 
to set up shop in the Quaker’s city. That he did 
not prosper at first was his own fault very probably. 
In the ordinary Scotch thrift he may not have been 
deficient. But his humor and jovial turn drew 

around him here, as before at L , improvident 

currents, and “busted” building associations did 
not help along. When he lost his good wife, Sue, 
he lost his financier; and even with Sue’s careful 
management, it often happened that ends would not 
meet, ^,nd he was fain to seek the pawn shop of Dal- 
guspin — against whom, by the way, he harbored a 
grudge for certain alleged sharp dealings; though in 
truth he had partially righted wrongs by such under 
work and over charge on boots, as would pass Dal- 
guspin’s scrutiny. However, Sandy at this time was 
doing much better. He had a snug home of his own; 
had paid off debts — had put by something, too — 
and if reports were to be credited, was casting sheep’s 
eyes at Mistress Kitty, the housekeeper at The Home. 

Really Sandy Johnson possessed abilities much 
above his station. He had a shrewd and lively 
intelligence — was a very respectable improvisatore — 
and excellent company, as may be supposed. When 


86 


Thomas Ruffin. 


he opened his mouth, ten to one but apt saws and 
jingling lines would drop out. Friend Peale was 
very fond of him. In truth there was intimacy, as 
far as difference in social position allowed. Sandy 

remembered Thomas, as a child, but had left L 

before Thomas was old enough to remember him. 
John Ruffin he knew well — had cut leather for the 
family — had heard through Friend Peale the recent 
history of his old townsman; and if thereat his ready 
sympathies were roused, they took fire when told 
how Thomas had been entrapped by Dalguspin. 

Sandy, you may be sure, was on the watch for 
Thomas’ arrival, and at the earliest moment sought 
him out. The latter was taken captive at once by 
the interest manifested by the warm-hearted Scotch- 
man, and his racy conversation; and at the first inter- 
view brought up the matter of his Father’s projected 
work, and the difficulty he feared touching patrons. 
Sandy’s ’cuteness was equal to the occasion. He 
himself would supply the chairs — Thomas could 
give him (Sandy) the half dollar (the price John 
Ruffin had settled on) — he (Sandy) would give it to 
his Father for the work — his Father would give it 
to Thomas — Thomas again would give it to him 
(Sandy), to be given in turn again to his Father, 
&c., &c., and so the half dollar be made to run in a 
circle. And as for chairs, if he could not command 
a sufficient number, what was easier than to rip a 
bottom, and have the same chair travel round the 
circle before the half dollar ? 

Thomas considered the proposed arrangement the 


Thomas Ruffin. 


87 


identical thing itself, but for the fear lest his Father 
might recognize his old acquaintance. Sandy felt 
confident, however, he had so changed John Ruffin 
would never know him — yet would be cautious and 
go disguised, if necessary; and so parted from 
Thomas with the chair question solved, and each 
wonderfully pleased with the other. 

John Ruffin soon settled down comfortably and 
satisfactorily at The Home. He liked his room — 
liked the location ; was disposed to like everything. 
One change he made in the appointments of the room. 
Mrs. Peale had had prints hung. These John Ruffin 
removed, replacing them with four cuts of his own 
and with which he held daily communings, cuts 
representative of Cloud Cap scenes — here one of the 
mansion, and here a cotton field scene, and here a 
rice field, and here a print of the sugar mill. 
Shucks were provided, and he went to work dili- 
gently upon a trial chair, to revive and perfect skill 
in the handicraft. 

The Peales Thomas never mentioned to him. 
They expressed the strongest desire to see their old 
friend, without his knowledge, and Thomas prom- 
ised that at an early day, when his Father would be 
in the Park, or under some other circumstances, he 
would try to gratify them. 

The servant specially detailed to wait upon John 
Ruffin — to tidy his room, answer his bell, bring the 
meals, in short to look after all his wants — was one 
Sabina. That Sabina was an old-time Virginia 
darkie, black as the ace of spades, was all the more 


88 


Thomas Ruffin. 


agreeable to the Southern planter, and she had been 
selected purposely with reference to such an effect. 

Sabina perhaps had more sense than her appear- 
ance and manner would seem to indicate; for she 
was cock-eyed and looked at you with one organ 
only, accompanied by a certain twisting of the head 
as if endeavoring to force the fellow-organ into po- 
sition — would go staring, gaping about, like any 
provincial in a city — and had a way, often without 
any apparent or at least adequate cause, of breaking 
out into vacant guffaws, amusing, at times startling 
in their effects. 

Thomas — who gave to his Father the purest and 
deepest affection, all that a dutiful mind can con- 
ceive — remained with him the whole of the first 
week, looking after every want, and rejoiced to see 
him so well satisfied. John Ruffin’s impressions 
were new, and, being new, were salutary. Scenes 
and environments were entirely changed. He was 
surrounded by strangers, yet strangers whose 
attentions were sympathetic and tender. He had 
been a master and a law to slaves. He was 
now living by rule and under authority, even 
though an authority most considerately exercised. 
All this so far lifted him from old conditions 
with which his losses and afflictions were as- 
sociated. In a new sphere, these losses, in a 
measure, were* lost sight of, and betterment set 
in. A link to the past was Sabina — yet not a harm- 
ful link, rather otherwise; since her negro character 
and John Ruffin’s Southern ways were in harmony. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


89 


Sabina had been told his history, and pointedly 
enjoined not to regard anything he might say or do 
out of the way. By nature an amiable creature, 
John Ruffin became really attached to her, and 
when from habit he would assume the tones and 
bearing of a master, forgetting his circumstances, 
and at times threatened her doings, and even at- 
tempted punishment, Sabina would only stare and 
roll her eyes, and retreat good humoredly in a chorus 
of guffaws. 

The institution had its regular visitors — we mean 
unofficial visitors — all representative of religion, 
more or less — some formally so, as members of re- 
ligious orders — others individually. John Ruffin 
point blank refused to see any of them. One, how- 
ever, persevered and finally gained admittance by 
means of a little chair she carried bundled up, to be 
bottomed. Sabina, it is thought, furnished the hint 
of the chair. She gave the name of Sister Jessica. 
Dressed in deep black, with the heavy veil in every 
instance worn down all the while, disguising the 
features completely, apparently she was a religieuse. 
To John Ruffin’s inquiry as to her business, she 
answered, that having known sorrow herself, she 
visited those in distress. Is that all? he asked. 
No, she replied. She would have a chair bottomed. 
The following week she called again for the chair, 
and insisted on paying the full dollar for a half 
price job. The visits— often with a little chair — 
were continued; and while the ample wage estab- 


90 


Thomas Ruffin. 


lislied an immediate interest in liis visitor, her per- 
sonality grew upon John Ruffin rapidly. The visits 
were generally made just before candle light at Satur- 
day’s eventide, and John Ruffin soon found himself 
looking forward to them with pleasing anticipations. 
The exceeding kindliness of tone and manner, the 
inexpressible tenderness, the care she took to find 
out and to gratify his fancies in the minutest partic- 
ticular, the flowers he loved which she invariably 
brought — all combined in a most happy effect. 

An early request from John Ruffin was to beg that 
she would remove the veil and let him look upon 
her face. She declined, saying she was bound by a 
vow to appear under such conditions of apparel, and 
checked all attempts to draw forth any portion of 
her history. It was sometime before Thomas met 
Sister Jessica, her visits being at an hour, when he 
was at the “Bank.” But his Father spoke of her 
so constantly. “Jessie,” or “my little angel,” or 
“my little Sister,” or some other term of endear- 
ment (he rarely called her Sister Jessica) was so 
often on his lips — and the influence upon his Father 
of this ministering spirit so palpable, that a special 
interest in her was inevitable. 

Thomas made inquiries of Miss Kitty, and was in- 
formed that the lady had visited TheHome before 
his Father came — that she saw other inmates — that 
she had orders to admit her outside of regulation 
hours — and that that was all she knew about Sister 
Jessica. Curiosity led Thomas to go further and 


Thomas Ruffin. 


91 


question Sabina, and to liis inquiry what she might 
know the darkie made answer, introducing it with 
the roll of eyes and the stare and the guffaw with 
which she commonly enlivened the expression of 
her sentiments : 

“I doesn’t know nuthin at all, honey.” 

So Thomas and his Father could gather no more 
than that Sister Jessica was Sister Jessica, and that 
her visits of mercy or vocation grew out of some 
affliction, grievous and peculiar it must have been, 
that had befallen her. This settled, curiosity 
ceased, and the visitations were taken as routine 
matter. 

The Sister so ingratiated herself, that John Ruffin 
finally became confidential, and, .under pledge of 
secrecy, imparted to her, in all its details and over 
and over again, the story of his own affliction — how 
rich he had been — what a lovely home he had had at 
Cloud Caj) — how he had Josx it all — how embittered 
he had been against the Sanfords — how he had 
learnt his cousin was innocent — how grieved he was 
for the sorrows that had stricken his family — how 
often he thought upon his little Amy — how she had 
been to him as a daughter — how she would bring to 
him every season the first yellow Jessamine and 
Moss bud, his favorite flowers, &c., &c., &c. 

It was from hints in these conversations that 
Sister Jessica learned John Ruffin’s fancies and was 
able to gratify them. She found, for example, that 
the Moss Rose was a favorite flower, and in almost 


92 


Thomas Ruffin. 


every bouquet she brought, some variety of the Moss 
was present. It struck Thomas with surprise. 
From cultivating it for John Ruffin, the Moss became 
a favorite with Amy herself, and, under the circum- 
stances, Thomas had given this rose a study. He 
knew the entire list, the dwarf, the cupped, the full 
blown flower — all the best species, touching form and 
color, from the crimson Luxembourg to the pure 
white Comtesse de Murinais. He knew, too, the Moss 
was a Spring bloomer, flowering at Cloud Cap in 
May. But here his Father’s visitor was supplying 
beautiful specimens in Winter. He had never heard 
of the Moss as a perennial. The flower had tender 
associations, and he would seek information the first 
opportunity from his Father’s veiled friend. Mean- 
while, he made free use of her gifts and almost daily 
.carried a Moss bud as a boutonniere. 

The arrangement was for Thomas to begin work 
the week following his arrival. Meanwhile, he took 
the necessary steps for occupying the room at the 
Bank. He had already seen it, having called the 
second day after reaching the city, and by the close 
of the week had partially recovered from the shock 
its general appearance presented. It was on the 
third floor, a low-pitched, 12 by 12, half front attic. 
The back attic was filled up with household rubbish, 
whence apparently had been selected the outfit for 
the front apartment. A dormer window, opening 
eastward, was about the sole intrinsic comfort con- 
nected with the room; for Thomas, of early Winter 


Thomas Ruffin. 


93 


mornings, would stand at this window, and catch on 
his head the warm sunshine and feel better — the sun 
shone so warm and good upon him. The ceiling 
which once had been whitewashed, was dingy and 
dirty. The walls, with dark paper, showed cracks 
and bulgings. For wardrobe a corner was curtained 
off. There was a single bed, and an ancient bureau 
(one of the drawers out of order and unserviceable), 
and a small pine table for eating and writing, with 
an old moth-eaten worsted cover — two Windsor 
chairs — and a washstand, which a bungler had 
smeared with varnish holding such* an excess of tur- 
pentine that in warm weather everything stuck fast 
upon it. The wash-bowl was cracked, and, as a 
whole, looked so infiltrated and uninviting, that 
Thomas bought a bright tin basin; and while in the 
tin-shop purchased some tin spoons at a half penny 
each. He provided, too, an oil lamp, with attach- 
ments affording capacity for cooking to the extent 
of drawing a cup of tea, &c., and the moth-eaten 
table-cloth he discarded for sheets of clean paper. 
Heating was by a small coal stove, which smoked 
most annoyingly, when the wind was on the chim- 
ney; and a rickety coal box, with a peck of coal, 
stood near. 

On the walls hung an ancient dusty cut of a girl 
in a garden watching a humming bird at a flower — 
an advertising card— a horse-shoe suspended by a 
faded ribbon -and some queer looking, put-away, 
sallow prints (of ancestors, perhaps) in oval frames. 


94 


Thomas Ruffin. 


John Ruffin expressed a warm desire to call on the 
Banker , before Thomas went to work, to thank him 
for his kindness, and to see his son’s room with his 
own eyes. But Thomas persuaded him against it 
all. His Father must not know the location — must 
not even pass by 222 North G. St., lest he see the 
golden balls. He represented it would be better, 
later on, to see the Banker at his residence; and that 
he need not be concerned touching his room. That 
it was high and healthy, with beautiful sun light, 
and walls all hung with pictures, &c. So John Ruf- 
fin was obliged to content himself with fancyings. 
He dwelt on the peculiar name “Dalguspin,” and 
pictured to himself a foreign looking personage, of 
noble and benevolent aspect, presiding over vast 
money affairs in a stately building — in one of whose 
luxurious apartments his dear son was domiciled. 

As has been said, Dalguspin was the head both of 
Bank and of pawn-shop. Shrewd and of exception- 
al working capacity, he had the affairs of each at 
his finger ends. “John” was clerk in the Shop 
with an assistant. He received goods, cast interest, 
computed storage charges, conducted forfeiture 
sales, &c., &c. Dalguspin was assessor and cashier. 
A long experience enabled him to give swift and 
accurate valuations touching those thousand and 
one different sorts of things offered, that make an 
established pawn-shop a remarkable museum. A 
private back door communicated between Bank and 
Shop, and at the ring o*f his number, Dalguspin 


Thomas Ruffin. 


95 


would shuffle in and dispose of the matter at a 
glance. The Bank's executive staff stood in Dal- 
guspin, President and Treasurer — Thomas Ruffin, 
clerk — and William, the watchman. Thomas, under 
X>ressure, was to get a lift from John ; and it was 
expected, that, in a Shop exigency, he was to take 
John’s place, or give the latter a return lift. There 
was the usual finance committee, with the Presi- 
dent at its head, which nominally controlled the in- 
vestments. Practically, Dalguspin had affairs in 
his individual hands. 


CHAPTER VI. 


WHEREIN ARE RECORDED SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 
♦ 

The Monday came, when Thomas was to com- 
mence work. It was one of those typical Novem- 
ber days significant of weather change. The morn- 
ing opened hazy and lowering. The temperature 
rose. The clouds thickened and moved lazily from 
the South West. The atmosphere was charged with 
a penetrating dampness. By noon a light quiet rain 
was falling. As evening drew on the wind shifted 
and blew cold from the North — the clouds rifted to- 
wards the Western horizon — and the Sun, on the eve 
of setting, burst forth, illuminating with his level 
rays many a wall and window, and filling all the 
West with floods of crimson glory ! Could it be an 
augury of his career, thought Thomas to himself, 
as he caught the sun-set from the Bank’s window — 
this contrast between the opening and the close of 
the day % 

Thomas received his Father’s blessing, that Mon- 
day morning, and was at his desk by times. The 
situation was clear to him in all its objectionable — 
yes, ugly— yes, risky features. But the indenture’s 


Thomas Baffin. 


97 


run would be short. He resolved to be true both to 
himself and to his employer. 

• Dalguspin occupied the early hours in general in- 
structions. The Bank opened at 10, and from that 
moment till long after dark Thomas’ hands were full 
with the various books, &c — that is to say: Deposi- 
tors’ Credits, Depositors’ Debits, Paying out and 
Deceiving moneys, Receipt-Book, Ledger, Casting 
Interest, &c., &c. 

John Ruffin had been awaiting his son with un- 
speakable anxiety. All that live long day he 
had been on his knees, or with hand and heart 
upraised. In what agony of prayer did he beseech 
God to be with his son — to make him faithful and 
successful — to grant him favor before his employer — 
and strength of body to stand up ! He could not 
eat. Night came. He could not sleep. . It was 9 
j). m. ! What ! what ! had happened ! Presently 
he heard a step, and he knew it. O what relief ! 
What a calming of the spirit ! How joyfully he re- 
ceived him back ! And when Thomas told him he 
had come out all right, what tears of rapture were 
shed ! 

Next day, early, Thomas was at work again. He 
hit his nails with the hammer of Thor. So active 
was he, “caught on” so readily, and was so amiable 
and winning withal, so complaisant and ready to 
yield to Dalguspin’ s wishes, in short so different 
from the clerks Dalguspin was accustomed to, that 
the Banker saw he had won a prize, with large capa- 
city for usef ulness , and began, in various little ways, 

a 


98 


Thomas Ruffin. 


to show liis appreciation. As an instance: Not un- 
frequently there was night work at the Shop, and 
with Black Isaac it was a hard and fast rule to re- 
quire the clerk employed last to sleep in the build- 
ing ; yet he volunteered permission to Thomas to be 
two nights off, Thursday night and Sunday’s, in lieu 
of the one Sunday night, as had been agreed upon. 
Then, in speaking to him alone, he would often call 
him “Tammie,” or “our Tammie,” the name, as he 
learnt, by which his Father addressed him ; and 
hinted, moreover, that at an early day he should 
have more money. All this greatly stimulated 
Thomas, who had already set up a high standard of 
duty, and he exerted himself far beyond the reasona- 
ble limit of his raw, undisciplined powers. — Be wise, 
young man. Over work is a noble folly. Labor 
judiciously, and so bear life’s burden with strength 
and j oy. 

In this way of mutual satisfaction, matters went 
on for some weeks far into December. 

But suddenly a change came over Dalguspin. He 
looked sunk, was silent, and disposed, without cause, 
to be cross. Apparently, something had happened. 
It was really so. The early portion of 1887 is mem- 
orable for the wildest speculation, and Noals, this 
time, had been bitten fatally. With cotton at ten 
cents, and all the outlooks, as he felt sure, most 
favorable for a rapid rise, this speculator bought, 
through his New York broker, four thousand bales, 
giving a note for $140,000 at ninety days with the 
cotton as collateral, and the residue in cash. Of 


Thomas Ruffin. 


99 


tliis cash, Dalguspin advanced personally $35,000, 
raised on mortgages — Noals $10,000 —and the bal- 
ance ($15,000) Black Isaac “borrowed” from the 
Rank , supplying the shortage by forging notes on 
certain of the Bank’s patrons. The notes, he knew, 
would pass the finance committee, even should an 
examination be made; since none of the committee 
were cognizant of the signature of these patrons, 
and they would not take the trouble to test them. 
And though aware that the district Examiner, one 
Edward Stone, no doubt would test them, yet this 
rigid functionary was not expected on his rounds 
for some months. Stone, by the way, was a recent 
appointee. Dalguspin never had met him. Knew 
him only by report and correspondence. 

The cotton note matured December 20th. Against 
all expectation, cotton had dropped at that date to 
seven cents. Three months later, by a remarkable 
fluctuation, it rose to seventeen cents, the highest 
point for 1837. But it was then too late, and Dal- 
guspin was swamped. No wonder the man felt 
blue; or that he began looking round for chances at 
money by hook or by crook, after his old methods. 

It was not long before an opportunity presented 
itself. One Cameron, well known to Dalgusjun, a 
man of means, but suddenly needing a hundred dol 
lars on the spot, ran into the Bank one day and 
executed a sight note for the sum. A week later 
Cameron was stricken by apoplexy and died uncon- 
scious within a few hours. Here was a chance. So 
by a chemical process discovered and known only to 


100 


Thomas Ruffin. 


himself, Dalguspin effectually removes ‘ ‘hundred” 
from the note’s face, and, adept in counterfeiting 
hand- writing, replaces it with “thousand,” and an- 
nexes a cipher to the figures. What could be easier, 
he thought ? 

But Cameron’ s executor became suspicious. There 
were memoranda to show the amount borrowed was 
$100, and other circumstances pointing towards for- 
gery, a law suit was threatened. Matters looked 
serious. Should they reach a crisis, a witness would 
be necessary, or the devil might be to play, and Dal- 
guspin hoped and thought he had one in Thomas, 
who was present on the occasion, and no doubt 
recollected his paying money over to Cameron. But 
Thomas needed some coaching. 

The morning, therefore, following the threat of 
suit (it was Saturday morning), Dalguspin came down 
to the “Bank,” and, with a manner unusally suave, 
said to Thomas : * 

“Don’t you remember last Thursday week, about 
half-past 10, a large, fat, red-faced, clean shaven 
man came into the Bank and had a conversation 
with me 1” 

“Yes, Sir,” Thomas replied. “I remember him 
distinctly.” 

“That man’s name was Cameron.” 

“Yes, Sir. I heard you call him so.” 

“Very well, Tammie — very well — you remember 
him distinctly, you say, and you heard me call him 
Mr. Cameron, you say. 

“Yes, Sir,” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


ioi 


“Very well. Mr. Cameron died the week follow- 
ing, and he owed me by note a thousand dollars.” 

“Indeed !” 

“Yes, Tammie — one thousand dollars. You will 
remember that, Tammie I” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Very well — very well. Now the executor threat- 
ens to go back on the note, and I may have to sue, 
to get my money.” 

“I hope not.” 

“You can help me, Tammie, if I should be forced 
to law him. Cameron executed this note in your pres- 
ence” (handing Thomas the note). “You see the 
writing and the figures — one thousand.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Thomas answered, handing back the 
note. 

“You saw me paying him money.” 

“Yes, Sir. I remember that very well.” 

“And I tell you, Tammie, it was a thousand dol- 
lars I paid him. You’ll swear to that, if necessary ?” 
interrogated the Pawn-broker, as he bent upon the 
youth his deep-set glittering eyes. 

“Yes, Sir. I will. Certainly.” 

“Tammie,” said Dalguspin effusively, approach- 
ing the young man and taking his hand. “You’re 
no gill y. A jury’ll believe anything you say. You 
face is honesty itself. Here’s an X” (handing a ten 
dollar bill). “You deserve it, Tammie.” 

Thomas reflected a moment, and then offered back 
the ten dollars : 

“Mr. Dalguspin, I can’t see why I should take 


102 


Thomas Ruffin. 


your money for doing what is so plain and simple.” 

“No! no!” exclaimed Black Isaac, raising his 
hand deprecatingly against the proffered bill. “It’s 
justly yours, for extra work any how.” 

“If you put it on that ground, I suppose I may 
keep it, and, indeed, Mr. Dalguspin, I thank you 
for the kindness.” 

“You’re a trump, Tammie, and deserve more, and 
I hope soon to do more for you. I’m thinking of 
getting some one in your place and making you my 
private secretary and putting all my personal affairs 
into your hands. You’ll have less to do and more 
pay, and can be every night with your Father — eh \ 
It’ll be a snap, Tammie.” 

“You’re very kind, indeed, Sir,” answered Thomas, 
with a countenance expressive both of the surprise 
and the gratification he felt at the very unusual pro- 
ceedings on the part of Dalguspin. 

“Co-operate with me, Tammie, and you’ll have 
the stuff. That’s all I can say, and that’s enough,” 
replied Dalguspin, giving vent to one of his low little 
laughs — “he ! he ! he !” — as he recognized the jingle 
he had made. “You’ve promised,” he continued, 
“to swear that you saw Cameron enter the Bank 
that Thursday ” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“That your attention was drawn by his manner of 
entrance ”• 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“That he was a large, fat, red-faced, clean-shaven 


Thomas Ruffin. 103 

man, and you could not be mistaken as to bis 
identity ” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“That you distinctly heard me call him ‘Cam- 
eron’ ” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Very well ! very well ! Tammie. — And that you 
saw me pay over to him one thousand dollars.” 

“No, Mr. Dalguspin, I did not say that.” 

“What!” ejaculated the Pawn-broker. 

“I said, Sir, I’d swear that you told me you paid 
him a thousand dollars.” 

“The devil you did !” Dalguspin exclaimed, with 
a changing countenance. “You don’t propose to 
make me a liar, my young man, do you?” 

“No, Sir, I do not.” 

“Why can’t you believe, Thomas, what I say?” 

“I am ready to believe it.” 

“You see here the note drawn in Cameron’s own 
hand for $1000. You saw me paying him money — 
ten one hundred dollar bills. Can’ t you believe it ?” 

“I have no reason, Mr. Dalguspin, not to believe 
what you say.” 

“Then, can’t you swear, with this note before 
your eyes, and my words which, you say, you be- 
lieve, in your ears, that you saw me pay Cameron 
$1000. Take care, Tammie,” Dalguspin went on, 
dropping the bluster for a low and significant tone, 
“it’ll benefit me, and benefit you,' too.” 

“I can swear only to what I know, that you said 
you paid Mr. Cameron $1000,” Thomas replied in a 


104 


Thomas Ruffin. 


rising and decided inflection, as tlie Pawn broker’s 
drift broke upon him. 

“You’re a fool, Thomas Ruffin,” growled Dalgus- 
pin, losing self-control and his face turning as red 
as his swarthy countenance would admit. “You 
shall repent of this, Sirrah ! Remember the indent- 
ures do not specify your wage. I can starve you 
and your old Father,” he continued, advancing 
towards Thomas, as he spoke, his eyes snapping and 
forefinger shaking an angry menace. 

Thomas Ruffin was one of those natures not un- 
commonly recognized, who ordinarily may be timid 
and shrinking, but with a reserve of genuine spirit 
making wholly unexpected displays in the presence 
of real danger or under great provocation. He now 
rose trembling with emotion and white as a sheet, 
yet resolute to act in the face of such an assault 
upon his deep sense of right and his filial love, and 
met Dalguspin’s eyes with a gaze so firm and fixed, 
that the latter stopped — then he spoke in low delib- 
erate tone : 

“Mr. Dalguspin, I understand it all. I’ve been 
warned against such attempts. I will do what’s 
right, and I do not fear your threat.” He paused 
a moment, then continued : “I’ve been instructed 
by my friends, and, if I chose, I could break the 
contract for what you’ve done, and” — he paused 
again, then added — “could bring you to justice, 
besides.” 

Black Isaac was thunderstruck. He had failed to 
take the measure of this slender, modest youth. 


Thomas Baffin. 


105 


A1J at once lie found liimself “in a hole,” and scram- 
bled out the best he could. 

“Thomas,” he cried, with a change of voice and 
manner to fit the turn, “it’s just a put up job — all a 
fib. Some of my clerks have proven knaves, and it’s 
my rule to test new ones. You’ll do Thomas — 
you’re pure gold,” he continued, turning hastily 
towards the back entrance to the Pawn-shop, as the 
ring of his number called him thither, very much to 
his relief, we dare say. “I’ll try to reward you for 
this,” he hdded, turning towards Thomas on reach- 
ing the door. 

As the door closed behind him, he turned towards 
the room, just left, with faces and low curses and 
divers thrusts and sweeps of the finger, to represent 
apparently the stabs and cuttings he would be glad 
to do, or intended to do, to somebody. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “he gets the better of me by 
ten dollars, besides. Yes, I’ll try to reward you 
for this.” 

The affair left Thomas in the unhappiest frame of 
mind. Dalguspin’s latter words were all pretense, 
he felt. That it was a deliberate attempt to use him 
criminally, that Dalguspin was still a bad man, and 
that he had incurred his enmity, he did not at all 
doubt. What should he do ? Might not the usurer 
seek revenge ? Very likely. There was something 
peculiar, Thomas thought, in the tone of the words : 
“I’ll try to reward you for this.” And might he 
not be able to entrap him in some way he could 
not avoid? There was danger in remaining. On 


106 


Thomas Ruffin. 


the other hand, should he take legal steps and 
break the contract, could he keep the trouble from 
his Father? Must his Father not discover that 
something had happened ? And would he not be 
affected by it and his improving condition checked ? 
There would be hazard in leaving, or even making 
the attempt. And might he not find difficulty, too, 
in getting the kind of work he could do ? Friend 
Peale temporarily was out of the city. There was 
no one with whom to counsel judiciously. The poor 
fellow was in great trouble — distracted and without 
a guide. 

Dalguspin’s bearing during the day, was much as 
usual. Not a word was said outside of current busi- 
ness. The morning incident was not even alluded 
to, and the usurer’s manner of adieu, as he left for 
home, the same as it had been. 

When Thomas entered his room that Saturday 
evening how different his circumstances and feelings 
from those with which he had left it that Saturday 
morning ! He had risen at half-past 4, and, refresh- 
ed by sound sleep, began tidying his room hum- 
ming snatches of song. The garret roost he kept 
clean and orderly, and actually was becoming 
attached to it. How happy the faculty of adapta- 
tion ! The prints and very walls seemed compan- 
ions. They had heard his prayers and sighings, and 
seen his tears. Affairs, too, were now getting into 
better shape. His Father was improving. His own 
health was stronger. Dalguspin was appreciative. 
The Peales, encouraging. Of the remnant of for- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


107 


tune, a few dollars were still in store for emergen- 
cies. Tlie skies all looked brighter; and he went 
about preparing the simple morning meal with a 
grateful and a hopeful heart. 

What a change on his return to it in the evening ! 
The wind was on the chimney and the stove smoked. 
Gloom everywhere — in the room — round his heart — 
and out over the prospect. With no spirit to pre- 
pare food, he forced a remnant of the morning’s 
meal; and the atmosphere having now become abso- 
lutely vitiated by smoke and products of combus- 
tion from an oil lamp, he raised the sash to purify 
the room, and sought the street. Square after square 
he sped along, and returned to his room in no better 
frame of mind. Neither did the bed bring rest. All 
through the night he turned and tossed in broken 
sleep — rose early and aweary — and went forth for 
relief. It was Sunday morning. The heavens were 
shrouded, the fog was dense — sympathetic weather, 
raw, damp, and thick. Thomas walked rapidly, and 
his long stride soon brought him within the precincts 
of a noble out-lying Park, of stream and lake and 
woodland and lawn yet green. At an hour so early, 
and in such weather and locality, and on this par- 
ticular day, few were stirring, save the frogs. It 
was, indeed, a line frog morning, and these merry 
musicians were much in evidence. The air was so 
fresh in the Park. It struck Thomas with tonic in- 
fluence. His blood, too, was up from exercise. He 
felt better; and began to think better of his circum- 
stances. One thing he could say, that his hands 


108 


Thomas Ruffin. 


were clean — that “the ungodly have laid a snare for 
me, yet have I swerved not from Thy command- 
ments.” And had he not a wise friend in Adam 
Peale, whom he would see perhaps to-morrow % The 
difficulties did not now seem to him altogether so 
formidable. He’d take courage and try to forge 
through. And he felt that he would. And all at 
once there came to him a lifting of the spirit and a 
confidence. The .weather, too, apparently was in 
sympathy; for it was now perceptibly improving. 
As Thomas faced eastward, on the return, he would 
catch, every step or two, glimpses of the Sun’s disk. 
Anon, a ray struggled through a rift. The fog was 
lifting. All around was brightening ; and by the 
time he reached his door, the mist had all rolled off, 
and a genial December Sun poured light and warmth 
from a cloudless sky. 

“An omen !” cried Thomas. 

That Sunday and Sunday night Thomas passed 
with his Father in a cheerful mood, as if nothing 
had happened. Next day he saw Friend Peale, who 
became enthusiastic over his conduct. He advised 
Thomas to let things rest, for the present at least; 
but to keep close watch. That while he scarcely 
doubted Dalguspin’s evil mind, it was possible he 
had made no misrepresentation. In any event it 
was not certain he could prove his case; and, should 
he fail, his position would be so much the more un- 
comfortable — not taking into account the probabil- 
ity of the affair’s reaching his Father and affecting 
him injuriously. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


109 


Under these circumstances, matters went on at the 
Bank pretty much as before. The cloud over Dal- 
guspin appeared to be deepening. He continued 
moody and meditative — spoke little — looked woe- 
begone — and almost daily was in retired conference 
with a stranger, whose name Thomas afterwards 
learnt was Noals. 

December almost had passed, a busy month, with 
increased work for Thomas. Xtmas was drawing 
near — happy season to the young— pensive to the old 
— to Thomas full of sweetest memories. The festival 
was a week off, and the impulse it imparted conspic- 
uous to eye and ear in every direction. Such crowds 
and bustle and jams on the streets and in the shops ! 
Such groaning counters ! Such garish windows ! 
Every body busy, busy, busy — buying or selling or 
sight-seeing ! Such a joyous, buoyant, expectant 
spirit in the air ! Faces, everywhere, so bright and 
anticipative ! This mighty Xtmas throb of a great 
-city, congesting all the arteries of trade, and send- 
ing a stir into every degree and condition of life, as 
though the world were born again and advancing 
afresh on its course, was something new and strik- 
ing to Thomas. Speaking of the impression to the 
Peales, they told him he must be out Xtmas Eve at 
candle-light — that the markets and thoroughfares 
and merry marauders would be another revelation. 

Dec. 24th, 7 p. m., Thomas was at his desk, finish- 
ing up the day’s work, when a confused roar from 
the direction of the market, two blocks off, fell upon 
his ear. He remembered the PeaJes’ suggestion, 


110 


Thomas Ruffin. 


and, closing the ledger, hurried forth to witness his 
first city Xtmas Eve. A few minutes walk brought 
him to the precincts of the market, where Xtmas 
trees in great stacks were being disposed of to bust- 
ling buyers, and mountebanks were haranguing, and 
toy-peddlers exhibiting their jumping monkeys and 
marching mannikins, &c., &c. Another step, and 
he was within the market proper, celebrated where- 
ever known, and now in its glory for the chiefest 
holiday of the year. The vendors were all in the 
freshest and whitest aprons and overalls, as well as 
the heartiest humor. The stalls, the cleanest and 
the tidiest, ablaze with lights, and decked profusely 
with evergreens; and the array and artistic arrange- 
ment of viands of every description, and the tlious- 
and-and-one other commodities vended here, was for 
new eyes a sight to see. The regulation Turkey was 
conspicuously in evidence, presented on all sides — 
of every kind, form, age, and gender — turkey fera, 
turkey domestica, turkey dressed, turkey half- 
dressed, turkey undressed, as well as turkey dis- 
tressed (in over full coops). Great bustling, wedg- 
ing throngs greeted the jovial vendors, pushing and 
nudging and jostling along good-naturedly with 
hearts and hampers full of Xtmas cheer, all laugh- 
ing or greeting or bargaining or chaffering — a babel 
of voices, whose level was pierced almost incessantly 
by the shrill soliciting cries of the market-men. It 
was a stirring scene — Xtmas Eve on its gastronomic 
side. 

Thomas entered the market near midway and 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Ill 


slowly worked on eastward, attracted by the mighty 
din which came from that quarter, and rose far 
above even the hubbub immediately around him. 
Reaching the eastern limit of the open shed-built 
market-house, he saw something. All down the 
street leading up to it, as far as he could descry, 
till a curve cut off the view, on side walk and from 
curb to curb, was a dense, hurly-burly, uproarious 
mass of merry-makers, revealed by the lamps and 
the lanterns innumerable. Thomas struck an east- 
ward current, and was borne along into the thickest 
of the whirl. The most pronounced feature was the 
ceaseless and awful noise that gathered from hosts 
of throats and extemjoorized agencies. The tin horn 
was omnipresent, from the twenty incher to the 
twenty footer (borne on a line of shoulders). Dinner 
bells and cow bells were clanging. The watchman’s 
sharp rattle would be answered back by ear-split- 
ting college yells. Tin pans were drumming, and 
there were cheers and shouts and peals of laughter, 
and blowing of fists and of fingers, and cat calls, 
and cock Growings, and dog barkings — altogether 
making a mighty sound, loud enough and long 
enough and discordant enough to rouse the seven 
sleepers. 

Masks, too, were much in evidence, and the wax 
nose, and caricatures, and dominoes, and white dit- 
toes, and what else God only knows. Here was a 
party of fellows with white stove pipe hats two feet 
high, fiercely be whiskered, overcoats turned inside 
out, in lock-step, and bawling a bacchanal. And 


112 


Thomas Ruffin. 


here a body of collegiates, of foot-ball fame, thrown 
into a V and cleaving a passage. And here a set of 
youngsters who had caught a docile fat man, and 
were bearing him aloft to the shouts of the crowd, 
&c., &c., &c., &c. It was a rushing, furious out- 
pour of jollity. But every one seemed good-natured, 
and the Blue Coats on this special occasion kept 
hands off. Xtmas Eve on its merry side, thought 
Thomas. 

He was not, however, en rapport. Merry, merry, 
indeed, had the season been at Cloud Cap and at 

L . But merriment was secondary and subdued, 

and through it all the Prince of Peace was distinctly 
visible. Here his features appeared lost. Even had 
it been otherwise, personal recollections and pain- 
ful contrasts were unavoidable, and Thomas, bred 
in a simple spiritual way and dissatisfied, escaped 
into an alley. A few steps brought him to the par- 
allel street. It was a thoroughfare, but now de- 
serted; for all had been drawn into the whirlpool of 
revelry behind him. The solitude was grateful. As 
he stood a moment listening to the uproar, a num- 
ber of women hurried by, one after the other, and 
all in the same direction. From some cause (was it 
the attraction of gravity ? or force of example ? or 
occult magnetic influence ? or psycological sympa- 
thy? or may be a good angel’s hand?) he followed 
at a little distance, turning as they turned, though 
rather out of the way to his lodgings. As lie went, 
others and others joined, and Thomas became inter- 
ested as to the outcome. Three squares off they 


Thomas Ruffin. 


113 


reached the Cathedral gate. Many from every 
quarter were going in, and with them he passed into 
the venerable temple, and took a seat in the nave 
just within the circle of the dome. Though one of 
the city’s special attractions, never before had he 
visited this sanctuary; for it represented a worship 
to which not only was he a stranger, but against 
which by breeding he was prejudiced. Still, he 
held his seat, and with a sense of growing satisfac- 
tion. The sacred chancel lamp, with fitful red flame, 
symbol of the Blood shed, brought the altar into 
relief sufficiently to reveal a wealth of Xtmas flower 
and evergreen. Back, the apse was darksome, and 
its fresco paintings barely distinguishable amidst 
the cedar festoonings and decorations. This was 
Thomas’ first view, as he looked out before him; 
and the sweet sympathetic Xtmas-tide impression 
made, went on gathering fullness and force, as other 
features of the scene grew into his consciousness. 
The imposing edifice, its size and proportions — the 
noble dome — the striking frescoes encircling its base 
— the dim religious light — the reverential silence, 
broken only by the cautious step of the incomers or 
outgoers, or passers to and from the confessionals — 
the apparent devotion of the worshippers, intent at 
book or prayer or communings, as if absorbed in 
introspection and conscious of but one Presence — all 
these influences pointing upward, wrought an im- 
pression in complete harmony with a spirit bowed 
by memories of other days — a chastened, soothing 
impression, deep and full. Now and then a far off 


114 


Thomas Ruffin. 


murmur from the revel-rout, would be heard. It 
seemed to Thomas from a world way below. Here 
was another world, with another spirit, serene, hal- 
lowed, inspiring. And as he rose presently to leave, 
with yet another view of a city’s Xtmas Eve, he said 
within himself, as did Jacob of old, “Surely, the 
Lord is in this place .... and this is none 
other than the house of God.” 

Meanwhile, the weather had grown cooler, the 
breeze had risen, the clouds had all fled, and east- 
ward in the heavens the stars, in unusual combina- 
tion and admirable for size and radiance, presented 
a scene that no one, with any sense of the grand and 
the beautiful — though no star-gazer like Thomas — 
could behold without emotion. The kingly Jupiter, 
this night a most singularly splendid eastward star, 
was the central feature. Fiery Mars, at its perihe- 
lion and in opposition, led the way before him. 
Castor and Pollux in the Twins followed in his 
train, and magnificent Orion with dazzling white 
Sirius were attendants — the apparent elect among 
the starry host, those stupendous and glorious 
worlds that make perchance “the many mansions in 
His Father’s house.” It was upon an open Thomas 
entered, as he left the sanctuary, and this resplen- 
dent “Star in the East ,” set in “living sapphires,” 
caught and held his eye. He stood and gazed upon 
it, and the Xtmas-tide associations and sentiment 
deepened and widened still. 

The young man sought his lodgings. The hour 
was late. His eyes were heavy. The scenes he had 


Thomas Ruffin. 


115 


just witnessed, faded and faded out at sleep’s ap- 
proach; but anon, in other form, the train of thought 
vividly revived them. For behold ! he dreamed. 
And again it was a joyous Xtmas-tide at Cloud Cap. 
And again he stood by Amy’s side, cutting the cedar 
twigs she was binding into wreaths for the Xtmas 
altar. 


CHAPTER VII. 


OF PLOT AND PLOTTERS. 

The door-bell rang (3 p. m.) at Dalguspin’s up- 
town residence. It was answered by a man-servant — 
something over twenty, one would have judged — 
with a bearing apparently above the position he was 
occupying — and whose bright general appearance 
gave every indication of his knowing a hawk from 
a hand-saw. 

Robert Small (the valet’s name) had entered 
Black Isaac’s service under peculiar circumstances. 
On a certain street a certain day his steps were 
arrested by a violent altercation between two 
men — one, old and feeble looking — the other, a 
young vigorous fellow. The latter was about to 
commit an assault, when Robert spoke up. He 
knew nothing touching the merits of the controversy, 
but instinctively interposed to protect the aged man. 
The fellow struck Robert. Robert knocked him 
down. The fellow rose with a dirk in hand and 
made for Robert, whereupon a ball from the latter’s 
pistol broke the fellow’s right arm. Arrest followed 
— then a trial. There were extenuating circum- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


117 


stances, and Robert got off witli three months’ im- 
prisonment and fine of one hundred dollars. 

The old man was Black Isaac. His assailant, an 
honest fellow whom the Pawn-broker had tricked in 
a money transaction. Naturally, Black Isaac was 
drawn towards his defender. He visited him in 
prison, and, needing a head-servant, proposed to 
Robert, at the close of the prison-term, to pay the 
fine, if he would work it out in his service — a pro- 
posal Robert was not slow to accept. 

The visitor was Noals — of whom the reader has 
heard before, incidentally. Noals was a ready- 
witted, comical soft of a man. In earlier days he 
had been a comedian of local celebrity in an amateur 
company — and was still an inveterate wag, making 
light of everything, cut out for low comedy, and, 
had he held to the stage, unquestionably would have 
risen a bright, particular star. He dealt in real 
estate. Speculation in this field had brought him 
money— which, however, passed from him readily 
through the channel of a free and easy life. They 
had brought him, too, something else — a fancy for 
speculation in other and less secure directions. 
Cotton then was a gambling rage. Noals took a 
hand and at first was fortunate. He drew Black 
Isaac into it, and made for him soipe brilliant hits, 
until finally, as we have seen, he was hit back. 

Noals’ personel was peculiar. He was a fattish 
dumpy kind of man — clean-shaven, save some patches 
of beard in sheltered spots passed over by the razor 
in its morning round, and a remarkably noticeable 


118 


Thomas Ruffin. 


tuft of long tliin hair on the chin. The cutaway 
coat, besides, with skirt all too short, seemed shorter 
still from a persistence to wriggle up towards the 
neck; so that he may be said to have been individu- 
alized, anteriorly by a goatee — posteriorly by a coatee. 

In the last venture himself was involved, as well 
as the Pawn-broker; and he now came to press on 
Black Isaac (over whom, as we have said, he exer- 
cised great influence,) a desperate remedy. The 
Pawn-broker was “at home” and immediately re- 
ceived his visitor (who had called by appointment) 
in a private apartment. 

“It’s an awful fix! awful! awful!” broke out 
Black Isaac the moment the door closed and be Core 
his guest had time to seat himself; “yet I can’t 
realize it, Noals. I can’t realize I’m dead broke , 
Noals — that this house and all these comforts are 
really mine no longer. I know it’s so; but I’m 
insensible to it, Jimmie. It dazes me, deadens me, 
Jimmie — like those sudden and fatal wrencliings of 
the body, we hear of, which take from the victim 
the power to feel.” 

“Come ! come ! Dalguspin. Real men look into 
the face even facts like these, and cast about for a 
way out.” 

“A way out and be hanged !” 

“A way out and be saved, say I.” 

“My own money’s all gone,” bewailed Black 
Isaac, as he paced the room wringing his hands and 
gesticulating in bitterness of spirit — “the Bank’s 
fifteen thousand are gone — my office will go — my 


Thomas Ruffin. 


119 


character will go ! Poverty, misery, dishonor hang 
over Dalguspin ! Oh ! this damnation luck of yours. 
Can there be a way out, except along a pistol’s 
barrel ?” 

“Pos-si-bly,” was Noals’ slow and emphatic re- 
joinder. 

The Pawn-broker stopped — bent his miserable 
eyes upon his visitor a moment — then spoke : 

“James Noals, are you jesting or not ?” 

“I’ll eat my old hat, if I ain’t in dead earnest.” 

“What do you suggest, then?” Black Isaac asked 
in a way which seemed to imply that no suggestion 
could be effective. 

“Now look here — are there any funds you could 
use for a time — funds sufficient to lilt the mortgages 
and settle our personal losses?” 

The reply came short and snappy : 

“None.”' 

“Think again, Dalguspin. No f-u-n-d-s you could 
lay hands on?” asked Noals, dropping his voice to 
a significant whisper. ( — By the way, some one has 
remarked upon the singular fact, that the voice, 
when dropped, should make less noise than when it 
is raised). 

The Pawn-broker paused a moment, reflectively : 

“I know of none but the Bank's.” 

“Why not lay hand on these ?” 

“What ! Steal and skip ?” 

“Neither.” 

“To take the Bank's funds and be caught, not 
stealing!” 


120 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“No more stealing, than to take the Bank’s funds 
for private spec., is stealing. You meant to replace 
the money then. You would mean to replace it 
now.” 

Black Isaac paused again, with eyes upon the 
floor and left forefinger tapping the nether lip 

“How would tracks be covered V’ he presently 
asked. 

“It might be arranged to have the Bank robbed.” 

“Robbed ! You said there was to be no stealing.” 

“The robbery would be a blind.” 

“A blind ! Away with riddles, Noals! Explain 
yourself 1” 

“Suppose, then, Dalguspin, that, under disguise, 
I should employ a man, a proper man, a right sort 
of a man, may be a cracksman, to do the job. Sup- 
pose I were to go to him and say : For certain rea- 
sons it is desirable a certain Bank apparently should 
be robbed. Suppose I should tell him that, on a 
certain night at a certain hour, he would find every 
thing to his hand, the private watchman away, and 
access to the Bank and to the Safe easy — that he was 
to do his part with drag and jimmy and jackscrew, 
and leave every mark of a burglary — of a genuine 
break-in and blow-open. Sux)pose I were to tell him 
he would find in the Safe, say, $5(10 or $1000 — and 
ask him, whether, for this sum, he would undertake 
the job. Suppose I should seriously suggest all this. 
What would you think of it, Dalguspin ?” 

The Pawn-broker made no answer, but sat ab- 
sorbed, and Noals went on : 


Thomas Baffin. 


121 


“’Twould be good pay and little risk, with no 
motive to squeal. No suspicion would attach to you . 
No one knows you’ve been speculating. I would 
make it a condition that the man at once leave the 
country, or this part of it, and he would understand, 
that, should he cause or attempt trouble, revenge 
would pursue him to the earth’s ends. — What would 
you think of such an arrangement?” 

The Pawn-broker still sat silent and absorbed. 

“Carry it out, Dalguspin, and your fortune is saved 
— your character is saved — the Bank could be reor- 
ganized — and you could bend your energies to raise 
a pile sufficient to replace every dollar of this bor- 
rowed money. What say you to it ?” 

“It must be thought upon, Noals. Call here at 
10 to-night.” 

Noals took a cigar from the table, applied a match, 
and retired. The Pawn-broker rang up Robert, and 
giving instructions that he be kept absolutely un- 
disturbed, closed and locked the door upon himself. 

The door bell again rang and Mrs. Peale was re- 
ceived. She had called for a word with her good man 
Adam, who, at this hour, was to speak to Black Isaac 
in behalf of Thomas Ruffin. On the plea of hard times 
the Pawn-broker had cut his clerk’s slender wage, 
and Thomas (who would not lessen what he had been 
accustomed to spare to his Father) was actually in 
want. Friend Peale offered and even pressed assist- 
ance. But Thomas knew the kind-hearted Quaker 
had met recently with business losses and refused 
the help. 

Mrs. Peale, an excitable little woman, always 


122 


Thomas Ruffin. 


bustling, and now partly out of breatli from her 
walk, glanced around the vacant room — then turned 
upon Robert with the snappy query : 

“Where’s Adam ?” 

“I hope in heaven, Madam,” Robert replied sol- 
emnly and with a puzzled look, not knowing what 
else to say to the wholly unexpected and unappre- 
hended interrogation. 

“Does thee say he’s gone, my Adam ?” cried Mrs. 
Peale, startled and ready to weep. 

“No ! no ! no ! Madam ! I thought you meant the 
lirst man, Mrs. Peale.” 

“Nay, nay, I mean my old man,” rejoined the 
now smiling woman. 

“A thousand pardons, Mrs. Peale. — What a blun- 
der !” Robert ejaculated to himself — “how could I 
know ‘Adam’ was in his name?” — Then aloud: 
“Your husband is not here, Madam.” 

“Then I’ll wait a bit. He was to be here at this 
hour,” (looking at her watch), “to speak with Dal- 
guspin for Thomas Ruffin.” 

“Thomas Ruffin, Madam !” 

“Yea. Why does thee ask so? Does thee not 
know who Thomas Ruffin be ?” 

“No, Madam.” 

“He’s clerk in Dalguspin’s Bank .” 

“He is ?” 

“Yea. Thee should know that , I think.” 

“Why should I, Madam ?” 

“Headman in the Banker's house should know 
something of the Banker' s Bank , I think.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


123 


“I have never seen the Bank, Madam, nor do I 
know anyone in it, save Monsieur Dalguspin. Bank 
and Court-house I shun on principle.” 

“And wherefore ?” 

“As likely inlets to the jail.” 

“Thee does!” rejoined the amused Mrs. Peale. 

“Yes, Madam. ’Twas a father’s counsel.” 

“Thee may be a wise son of a wise Father,” Mrs. 
Peale remarked reflectively. — “ Well, I can tell 
thee,” she added, “that Thomas Ruffin is clerk 
with thy master. We feel great interest in him. He 
is son to an old friend of ours, now at The Old Men’s 
Home, poor John Ruffin !” 

“John Ruffin !” 

“Yea. Whose else son could he be ? I was at 
Cloud Cap — ” 

“Ah ! The bell, I believe,” Robert interrupted, 
as he assumed a listening attitude. “Excuse me, 
Madam.” 

Robert retires to answer the bell. A moment later 
re-enters, and remarks : 

“You seem warmly interested in John Ruffin, Mrs. 
Peale.” 

“Yea. He’t an old friend. I was at Cloud Cap, 
his lovely home, when the news came.” 

“What news, Madam?” 

“That he had lost every cent of his fortune, poor 
man ! It came in the twinkling of an eye. And 
what a change! What a change ! Never shall I 
forget it ! Oh! so sudden, so complete, all the circum- 
stances so tender and affecting! John Ruffin fell, 
as if from a shot. For weeks I nursed him at death’s 


124 Thomas Ruffin. 

door; and, when his body recovered, his mind was 
gone !” 

“Have a glass of water, Mrs. Peale. You look 
fatigued. 

“I am not so fatigued. Yet I will thank thee.” 

Robert turned to the buffet, and, while blowing 
his nose and fumbling, accidentally and most unfor- 
tunately poured from the whiskey decanter and 
offered the glass. Mrs. Peale tasted with a face and 
a sputter, and returned the glass indignantly : 

“Thee can spare the liquor for thine own use.” 

“Excuse me Madam, do excuse me, I pray,” apol- 
ogized Robert, confounded and abashed by the error. 
“Really, it’s unpardonable. My mind was off at 
the moment, and the decanters, you 'see, are just 
alike, and the liquor is water-color.” 

Robert awkwardly replaces the glass on the tray, 
spilling part of the contents, at which he remarks : 

“I take pride in my service, Madam, and the blun- 
der really unman’s me.” 

Turning now to the buffet, he pours a glass from 
the water decanter and offers to Mrs. Peale. Re- 
ceiving back the glass, he busies himself a moment 
at the buffet, to recover from his confusion; then 
turns and observes : 

“And John Ruffin’s at The Old Men’s Home, you 
say, Madam 

“Yea — and his sole stay his son Thomas.” 

“He has a son, then ?” 

“Yea — and such a son ! Oh ! it’s awful sad, the old 
man’s lot ! I fear he can’t do anything at all, but 


Thomas Ruffin. 


125 


pray. He’s just like a child, and hath no kin to 
love him or take care of him, but this young son. 
And lie’s such a dear good son ! He works so hard 
to. get his Father little extras to which he has been 
accustomed, and so help him to forget his poverty. 
And he touches up his room for him, and reads to 
him, and walks out with him every day, and is so 
tender and encouraging towards him, and looks 
after him just like a little mother, and is just too 
nice for any thing, I can tell thee. Yea, yea — John 
Ruffin knows what it is to have a son, I can tell 
thee.” 

“Good for the old man! Madam.” 

“But Dalguspin, for shame ! is rough upon the 
youth.” 

“Pity! pity! Mrs. Peale.” 

“Yea. Thy master’s grown a hard man. Years 
ago, when I first knew him, he was kindly dis- 
posed.” 

“Years ago !” 

“Yea — when he began running the Pawn-shop. 
He had redeeming qualities then and was ever ready 
to lend ; but age has made him close and cruel.” 

“Why doesn’t the young man leave ?” ‘ 

“Oh! he can’t. He’s an indentured clerk. — But 
Adam’s to be here, to speak for him to Dalguspin. 
And will you please give him this?” (handing a 
note). “I thought I might miss Adam, and wrote a 
line. It may help Thomas. I don’t want Adam to 
forget a certain thing.” 

“Certainly, Mrs. Peale,” Robert answered, as he 
received the note and ushered out the Quaker lady. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE PAWN-SHOP. 

In whose stale atmosphere the reader shall not be long detained. 

It may be observed, that, while the Pawn-broker 
and Noals were wickedly conferring and plotting, 
Thomas Ruffin was having his bowels of compassion 
moved by scenes among the unfortunate ; for on the 
same day and at the very same hour, when Black 
Isaac received Noals at his residence, as recorded in 
the chapter preceding, Thomas for the first time 
took his turn in the Pawn-Shop, as clerk or re- 
ceiver. John’s assistant was ill, and John himself, 
a young expert, this day filled the Boss’s place as 
appraiser in the rear apartment. The Bank closed 
at 3 p. m., the Pawn-Shop generally at 7 ; and on 
these occasions, when Thomas gave John a lift, the 
former was expected to finish up at night the after- 
noon work of the Bank — balancing cash, posting to 
the ledger, notifying note-debtors of approaching 
maturity, &c., &c. 

As has been stated, the charter name and sign of 
the establishment was “Loan Office,” and it was con- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


127 


ducted on the general principles of the Mont de 
Piete ; but the repute which the latter institution 
held abroad, had not been drawn towards it. The 
offensive odor of the old Pawn-Shop still prevailed, 
and its patrons were of the same low and debased 
character. True, that now and then those of real 
respectability, and even of wealth, for the moment 
embarrassed, sought its aid ; but the great mass of 
customers were the working poor, the spendthrifts, 
the roues, the debauchees, distributed among labor- 
ers, orphans, widows, shop-girls, domestics, stu- 
dents, soldiers, &c. 

Business at the Pawn-Shop was now brisk; for it 
was the middle of January. During summer many 
of the poor laboring class seek the country. Those 
remaining in the city find employment, and expenses 
are light. The season, too, is healthier, and, were 
it not for rum and idleness, the Pawn-Shop in sum- 
mes time practically would be deserted. With cold 
weather expenses increase — more food is needed — 
often there is sickness — crowds flock in from the 
country and the shelves of the Shop begin filling up. 

But at this juncture a potent special cause was 
operating. It was the closing days of Jackson’s 
second administration, when experimental finance, 
rash meddling with the currency, the nation’s life 
blood, had brought about a state of affairs, which 
resulted a few months later, as thoughtful men fore- 
saw, in the historic panic and crash of 1837 that em- 
phasized the commencement of' Van Buren’s term of 
office. Two years before, the United States Bank 


128 


Thomas Ruffin. 


had been allowed to expire by limitation. Its down- 
fall was followed by a multitude of state banks, 
emitting floods of issue. Speculation and overtrad- 
ing ran riot on the swell of inflation. The gold and 
silver of the country, wholly inadequate for redemp- 
tion purposes, rose to a premium and disappeared 
from view — save where borrowed at two to three j)er 
cent, a month, to carry all sorts of the wildest 
schemes. Shinplasters went on depreciating, and 
the sufferers, first and deepest, were the poor. The 
laborer saw u his bag of meal and peck of coal going 
up in price, and the rag money received for the 
week’s wage going down.” It was the day for the 
Pawnbroker. 

Black Isaac’s absence had closed for an hour the 
door of the Pawn-Shop. When Thomas opened it 
at 8, a more than usual number pressed in — for the 
most part women. Never before had he so con- 
fronted these unfortunates. As liable any day to 
be called upon to give John a lift, he had been in- 
structed in the routine duties of the Shop; but now 
for the first time was he officially brought face to 
face with its wretched patrons. And if to one of 
generous and refined sensibilities, under the most 
pleasing personal conditions, the spectacle was mov- 
ing, the present surroundings of Thomas Ruffin all 
tended to deepen the spectacle’s influence. He was 
a kind of sufferer himself — beset by circumstances 
of a nature to draw forth sympathy for sufferers. 
He knew he had incurred Black Isaac’s enmity. 
There was a painful sense of having an evil eye upon 


Thomas Ruffin. 


129 


him and of being insecure. He had a constant fear 
of having some web of malice secretly spun around 
him; yet saw no immediate way fairly open by 
which to withdraw from the danger. And, withal it 
was that hour of special nervous depression (with 
very many), 3 to 4 in the afternoon, when sympa- 
thies perhaps are more easily touched, or at least 
the gloomy aspects of misfortune appear still more 
gloomy. 

The applicants filed in and took seats in the order 
of entrance. It was a rule to serve them in like 
order. So Thomas beckoned, and the first in the 
row came forward to the counter — a pale, weak-eyed, 
hollow-cheeked woman — and offered a pair of bed 
sheets. The quality was fair, and the sheets in a 
state of good preservation, and worth, in the money 
of the period, fully three to four dollars. Thomas 
pinned on a check with number, date, description 
of goods, &c., and passed in the bundle to John for 
appraisement, as the woman reseated herself. A 
moment later John returned the bundle, with a note 
of valuation; and Thomas, calling out the number, 
stated that the goods were rated at three-fourths of 
a dollar, and a two-thirds loan would be a half dol- 
lar. The poor woman cried out at the smallness of 
the sum, and the cry was taken up and repeated in 
a low but impressive way by all those present, so 
great is the sympathy among these unfortunates. 
At the same time the woman advanced and besought 
for more, pleading her wretchedness, that her hus- 
band was down sick and could not work, her own 


130 


Thomas Ruffin. 


strength broken, and the little children had eaten 
the last loaf. The evident reality of the woman’s 
poverty and solicitude would have affected a heart 
less tender than Thomas Ruffin’s. He thought, too, 
the valuation was below even a pawn-broker’s stand- 
ard, and was disposed to refer the case again to 
John. But what was the use, he reflected. John 
was a close cutter, he knew — a hardened fellow, with 
the spirit of a true pawn-broker, who is pitiless 
and always decides these matters as his own inter- 
ests dictate. He simply replied, therefore, that it 
was her privilege to refuse the valuation. The wo- 
man shook her head in silence, and, coming up to 
the counter to close the contract, presented a grocer’s 
receipt for identification. Whereupon her ticket 
was made out and given her with the money, and so 
she departed. 

“Next 1” cried Thomas, and the call was responded 
to by a much younger looking woman whose whole 
shabby-genteel appearance suggested one who had 
known better days. She came forward modestly, 
and with that smile on her wan features which oft- 
times masks a fullness of sorrow. Her well-worn 
dress of black was the plainest, yet scrupulously 
neat and clean — her eyes large, watery, and lustrous 
— the blue veins shown distinct over the pale shrunk- 
en face — and the body was wasted and weak, so weak 
that the jaws, in repose, hung slightly apart. The 
evident signs of a fatal disease, and the refined, 
modest, lady-like air, could not fail to rouse at once 
unusual sympathy and interest. Thomas took down 


Thomas Ruffin. 


131 


the bundle called for by the ticket, and, observing 
the pawn had been renewed for the fifteenth time, 
felt curious to see it and peered into the package. 
It was a dimity petticoat, and, as the young woman 
caught a glimpse of it, unobserved she brushed away 
a tear. The material was superfine, and the fabric, 
with border richly embroidered, could not have cost 
under an eagle. It had been valued at three dollars, 
with a three-fourths loan upon it of two and a quar- 
ter dollars. 

“I see it has had fifteen renewals,’’ remarked 
Thomas. 

“Yes, Sir,” she replied with a smile. 

“Why don’t yo]£ redeem it ?” 

“Because I am too poor, Sir.” 

“Wish to renew again?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“You know that every renewal carries a tax,” 
said Thomas, with a growing interest roused by the 
young woman’s looks and bearing. 

“Yes, Sir, I do.” 

“And the sum of the taxes will soon equal the 
valuation.” 

“Yes,” she answered, as her pale countenance be- 
gan to grow yet paler and she became visibly agi- 
tated, “but I’ve never known the day, Sir, when I 
could pay down at once the full ransom money.” 

“Why not let it go then ?” 

“Oh ! Sir !” she cried, bursting into tears, “it is 
the last relic of my Mother !” 

It was a scene even for the Pawn-Shop. The usu- 


132 


Thomas Ruffin. 


ally dull, self-communing pawners present, attracted 
by the colloquy, were now wide awake and eagerly 
interested. Thomas himself, fresh in this business, 
was deeply moved and could scarce withhold his 
own tears. He paused a moment. The filial affec- 
tion of the poor creature, sobbing as if her heart 
would break before him, touched the tenderest spot 
in his breast, and, obeying an impulse quite out of 
character with the Shop, he dived into his pocket, 
drew forth the scanty purse, and counting down the 
two and a quarter dollars, dropped the sum into the 
till, saying as he did so : 

“Well, my good woman, I wilJ redeem it for you” — 
at the same time handing her the treasure. 

A cry of admiration rose from the sad-eyed, blas6 
company. As for the young woman herself, she 
gazed a moment at Thomas in mute astonishment. 
Then, attempting to speak her thanks, broke down 
at every effort; and Thomas, to end the trying scene 
and not trusting himself to speak, waved her out, 
with delight and gratitude beaming upon her counte- 
nance. 

The rest were served without noteworthy incident. 
By 7 the work was over and the door closed. From 
the atmosphere of the Pawn-Shop, tainted by many 
an ancient odor-bearing bundle, the transition to 
the Bank was agreeable enough. Late was the hour 
that saw its unfinished afternoon work done. Yet 
Thomas did not fail to walk over to The Home to 
bid his Father good night — a sacred daily duty never- 
omitted. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


133 


On the way, as he ran over the course of the day, 
the Shop scene was conspicuous. His generosity had 
stripped him, with not enough left to meet the scant 
needs of to-morrow. But there were no regrets. He 
felt better for what he had done. And as for “to- 
morrow,” it was not the first time he had trusted it. 

The night was clear and cold, with the wind set- 
tled in the N orth, and the stars, as usual (for Thomas 
was a confirmed star-gazer, it has been noted), drew 
his attention. They shone magnificently. Ruddy 
Procyon and Betelyeuse beamed like rubies near the 
zenith. Jupiter ruled resplendent in the western 
sky. In the southern hemisphere, far below the 
bands of Orioxj, Sirius’ white light glowed with un- 
rivaled lustre. How beautiful, thought he, are the 
lights of heaven ! How vast, how wonderful, how 
glorious these lights ! And what, then, must “the 
Father of lights” not be ! 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ Rather than not accomplish my Revenge, 

Just or unjust, I would the world unhinge.” 

— Waller. 

There was nothing in Noals’ suggestion itself (to 
take the Bank's funds and mask the theft by an 
apparent burglary), to which in any sense Black 
Isaac was opposed, if thought to be necessary or 
conducive to his interests. A prospect of the de- 
struction of the evidences of debt due the Bank , 
with more than sufficient cash to replace his perso 
nal loss, was something, indeed. The moral quality 
of the mode, comparatively nothing. In truth he 
felt surprise that the scheme had not occurred to 
himself. The sole points for consideration were : 
Could a suitable agent be found, and the degree of 
the risk of discovery. Upon these points Black 
Isaac sat in his private room and long pondered. 
The result was satisfactory, seemingly; for his face 
and manner gradually assumed a less cheerless as- 
pect. He took tea with far more relish than for 
weeks past — smoked his Narghile with unusual zest — 
and, by the time Noals returned, was positively in 
a degree of good humor. The fact was that the 
Pawnbroker, readily catching at Noals’ suggestion, 


Thomas Ruffin. 


135 


had developed himself a complete scheme of rob- 
bery, with agents chosen and details all arranged. 

Noals was back on the hour, and to his interroga- 
tion : 

“Well, Sir?” 

Black Isaac replied in apparent opposition : 

“It’s collecting pigeon’s milk, Jimmie Noals. You 
advise the impossible.” 

“Mistaken, Dalguspin !” 

“Your scheme’s desperate, Jimmie.” 

“So’s the situation. I’ll eat my old hat” (Noals 
was as ready to swear by the old hat, as a Turk by 
his beard), “if it can’t be done, Dalguspin. I say 
we can work it. I say we pull a strong team. We 
can ‘smite the gates of brass and break the bars of 
iron in sunder.’ ” 

“Quoting Scripture! He! he! he! I’d as soon 
expect to see Angels’ wings sprout from the backs 
of politicians.” 

“Needn’t note what I quote. To the main point, 
Dalguspin : What say you to it, if it is desperate ?” 

“That it lacks an accomplice.” 

“The dickens ! An accomplice ! Are you crazy ? 
Wouldn’t it complicate and add to the hazard?” 

“Probably. But wouldn’t it strengthen the no- 
tion of burglary ? 

“Probably. But where could a fit one be found, 
when we haven’t got yet the burglar himself?” 

“I can name him.” 

“Who ?” 

“Thomas Puffin, my clerk.” 


136 


Thomas Muffin. 


Noals arched his eyebrows and gave a shrug. 

“I mean an involuntary accomplice, mind you — 
one we can make to appear so, Jimmie.” 

“Ah ! — that young man ‘Tammie’ I’ve heard you 
call him — that pet of yours — that most amiable and 
most excellent clerk ! Ah ! yes — involuntary puts 
another face on it. It’s hardly probable he’d be a 
voluntary helper.” 

“Couldn’t a money-roll be secreted in old Ruffin’s 
room at The Home, to be found there at the proper 
moment? Twelve month ago he was rich. Lost his 
pile and’s gone crazy. Poor now — very poor — noth- 
ing at all but Son’s pay; and I could cut that and 
put him in straits. There’s the motive, you see. 
Full yesterday — to-day, hungering and thirsting. 
Pinched by want, with the memory of riches yet 
fresh and green. Poverty’s a curse, Jimmie — isn’t 
it ? And for him who has had wealth, to shrink at 
once into its fittings — ah me ! all me ! — is a hard and 
a painful task. There’s the motive, Jimmie.” 

Prior to his sounding Dalguspin, as related in a 
preceding chapter, Noals had formed in his own 
mind a distinct scheme of robbery; but, for the pres- 
ent, held it back. While each had done things more 
or less “crooked,” and while Noals placed a high 
estimate on the Pawn broker’s villainous and vin- 
dictive capacity, the latter had never gone as far as 
this hint he had thrown out to him, and it was plain 
wisdom not to divulge the scheme, unless Black 
Isaac should become committed to the idea. He 
now perceived that not only had the instigation found 


Thomas Ruffin. 


137 


lodgment in tlie Pawn-broker’s mind, but bad devel- 
oped there into a scheme of his own, and Noals real- 
ized the necessity, as well as the policy, of giving 
his scheme consideration at the least. With this 
end in view, he put the question : 

“You think the old one could be handled easily V’ 

“Crazy and deaf. No trouble.” 

“Crazy from losing his pile, I believe V’ 

“Yes — a bad case, very bad. A dear deceiving 
cousin tricked him into a shaky Cotton House down 
South.” 

“Generous soul ! What are we for, Dalguspin, 
but to help each other !” exclaimed Noals with an 
air of lofty sentiment. 

“The break was too broad, or the purse was too 
narrow, and a week after signing the firm John 
Ruffin found himself without a red.” 

“Sad sequel to benevolence. But there’s another 
world, Dalguspin,” observed Noals, jointing and 
looking heavenward with an affectation of piety as 
complete as it was comical. 

“Certainly, Jimmie Noals, certainly — he! he! 
he !” responded the Pawn-broker, irresistibly amus- 
ed. “Comedian in a role of tragedy.” 

“One can but follow his bent.” 

“A joke, Noals, will be your last gasp in this 
world; and your best hope in the next ” 

“To humor old Nick into gentle treatment- I dare 
say,” Noals interjected. “Well, every man to his 
making. Now, how about your Tammie?” 


138 Thomas Ruffin. 

“ Extrinsically , intrinsically , and personally, be 
fills the bill.” 

“Humph ! Explanations, I take it, are in order.” 

“Well, extrinsically , he’s a stranger here — no 
acquaintances, no friends, no pulls, you see.” 

“So. — And intrinsically?” 

“He’s a very gentle sort of somebody — gentle, 
Noals, as the dear ladies.” 

“Who are often dear deceivers, I can tell you. 
Wasn’t Epaminandas the bravest, yet the gentlest 
of men ?” 

“Confound your philology and hair-splitting. I’ll 
say, then, that intrinsically , he’s a very timid sort 
of somebody.” 

“So.” 

“And, personally, I hate the youth. He won't 
co-operate in my little schemes, you see. I’ve told 
you about one of ’em.” 

“I remember. The block-head! To refuse an 
opening like that ! He is a green one, or I’ll eat the 
old hat.” 

“I tried him, and hang it! he told me, for my 
pains, that he’d mistaken my character ! And even 
threatened to law me !” 

“The blackguard !” 

“I’ve never before had a clerk to make a fool of 
me and force me to eat my words, and I’ve vowed 
not to forget it. My age will not put up with the 
codlin’s slap, Jimmie.” * 

“The blatherskite !” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


139 


u So pious, you know. Such a good, conscientious 
young man, you know. 

“Why haven’t you dismissed the rascal?” 

“Waiting to get even; and here’s the chance.” 

“Yes, yes,” replied Noals, who saw no objection 
to the Pawn-broker’s suggestion, “verily, a kind 
Providence has preserved him to our hand. If he 
won’t co-operate with you, we'll co-operate with 
Providence, and I’ll devour the ancient chapeau, if 
‘Tammie’ doesn’t prove a first class silent partner.” 

“Very good — very good !” 

“And now, Dalguspin, having supplied the tail, 
suppose you try for the head and name the burglar 
himself ?” 

“Suppose I do ?” 

“Well!” 

“He will be you.” 

“Sir, you are complimentary. 

“Now, now, Jimmie, do pray don’t take me for a 
Simple Simon. Can’t I see all you’ve said has been a 
feeler, and that your scheme has been formed around 
your own self ? Otherwise, it’s a folly and no sane 
man could propose it. You’re the very person, 
Noals. Risk then would be nil. Squealing would 
be shut out. The burglar, too, should personate 
William, the watchman, and who so fit for this as 
yourself. You’re about his age and make and size. 
You know him well — his voice, his limp, his man- 
ner. Y our mimic powers could re-produce him to a T • 
All you want is the watchman’s garb and a full gray 
beard, aids easily supplied. Withal, Jimmie, we 


140 


Thomas Bufin. 


should remember the scheme has a moral side, and 
isn’t it the proper thing he should stand forth to 
repair the loss, whose damnation luck caused it?” 

“Ah ! Dalguspin, you can see very far, if you 
can’t see quite through a mill-stone. Suppose I 
should have had myself in view — suppose I should 
be willing to go in — one thing’s certain and sure : I 
must have the necessary help. That’s a point I’m 
bound to score for myself.” 

“Help multiplies risk, Jimmie. The scheme 
doesn’t call for help. Cracksman’s skill is not re- 
quired. The keys and all, you’ve said, would be to 
hand, the private watchman away, and access to 
Bank and Safe smooth, without a hindrance. What 
need for help? The job’s most easy — tints : Watch 
Thomas from the street. By ten he should be 
through the extra work that night and awaiting 
Will’s return from my house, where I would be de- 
taining him on biz. That’s your moment. Enter 
with duplicate key, while Thomas is within the 
‘cage.’ The Banins light’s dim, and as you limp 
along, like Will, outside the ‘cage,’ call to him 
in Will’s low tone : ‘Mr. Thomas, you can 
leave now ;’ and then make for the rear office. 
That Thomas should delay or show suspicion, 
is most unlikely. If he should , at pistol’s point 
gag and nipper him. With keys in hand, a mo- 
ment will then suffice to open Safe, wrench draw- 
ers, scatter their contents, and out, with all the 
marks of burglary behind. There’s but a youth to 
deal with, Noals. Can’t you deal with him alone ? 


Thomas Ruffin. 


141 


You’re far larger, and there’s much in size, as you 
will feel, when you get a wife biggerthan yourself.” 

“Dalguspin, the second, sober thought says nay. 
That fellow Thomas may defy the pistol’s point. 
Manners like his often mask a heart of steel. 
Haven’t I told you that Epami ” 

“No, no, Noals,” broke in Black Isaac. “No 
more of k Epami ;’ it’s all about ‘our Tammie.’ 
Thomas Ruffin defy the pistol’s point ! he ! he ! he !” 

“Yes — and then to floor and fix him, neatly and 
without alarm, would need another’s aid.” 

“ Two men, to floor and fix Thomas Ruffin ! he ! 
he ! he!” 

“Besides : Will, the Watchman, may return too 
soon, or loungers may imperil the exits. Tnere must 
be some one on guard outside, to hold the Watchman 
in a chat, if need be, and give me warning how best 
to leave, whether by front or rear. If cracksmen, 
whose art we are simulating ” 

“Simulating!” again broke in Black Isaac, with 
his low little laugh. “Good, Jimmie !” 

“Yes, Sir! yes, Sir! I say simulating; for 

We’re simply borroiving money in a certain way, 

As many an honest man has done, and is doing to-day — ” 

“True! true! Jimmie,” interjected the Pawn- 
broker. “He! he! he!” 

“If cracksmen never single handed boss a job 
like this, hasn’ t a novice greater need of aid ! How 
answer that argument 2” 

O I don’t believe in argument, Noals.” 

“In what then V* 


142 


Thomas Ruffin, 


“Intuitions, Sir; and one tells me it’s time to 
drink.” — Dalguspin rings. 

“Whiskey and cigars, Robert.” 

Robert retires, and directly re-enters with the 
“things.” Noals pours a glass, and, sniffing it, re- 
marks : 

“Good liquor this, Dalguspin.” 

“What’s better than Old Rapp in its teens ?” 

“Why, Old Rapp in my gills, to be sure,” re- 
sponded Noals, as he drained the glass. 

“Trim, fine fellow Robert seems to be,” observed 
Noals, as the servant-man retires. 

“Yes — he’s a character. Educated, intelligent, 
gentlemanly — handy, witty, spunky. You know 
how I got him.” 

“I remember. A sort o’ Sam Weller, he.” 

“Yes — but I’m getting afraid of him.” 

“Why ?” 

“O it seems he’s a butt cut of original sin — such 
a dare-devil, from his own account — been every 
where and in all kinds of scrapes — done the Wild 
West, and took a hand in adventure of every sort — 
worked sailor’s passage to South America, and after 
roaming up and down and across that continent, 
turned up in Mexico and Texas, and must have been 
a regular ‘fighting Bob’ at San Jacinto; for he shows 
scars from a dozen wounds received, he says, in that 
battle; and altogether I’m half afraid I’ve got a 
Cow-boy or Bandit, watching for an opportunity.” 

“You’ve spoken to me somewhat of Bob’s life be- 
fore, and do you know while I’ve been revolving 


Tliomas Ruffin. 143 

our scheme, I’ve been thinking of him as a possible 
confed ?” 

“Robert ! Gracious me ! Why, Robert is about 
to leave! His special service to me is over, and, 
with a roving spirit still, he intends, just as soon as 
I can fill his place, to take the road again.’ ’ 

“That much the better, Dalguspin, for our pur- 
pose. By jingo ! events are so shaping to our hand, 
that our scheme begins to look like a special provi- 
dence.” 

“Robert a confed! Well, well! That’s to be 
thought on, too, Noals. If he could be induced to 
leave the country !” added Black Isaac reflectively. 

“Anyhow, disguised as a cracksman, let me sound 
him and report.” 

The Pawn-broker pauses to reply : 

“But use every care, Jimmie, and decide nothing 
till you see me.” 

“Certainly. Depend on me. Disguises and tricks 
are somewhat in my line. I’d lay a wager I could 
gammon even your own sharp eyes.” 

“I’ve no money now to try luck with. If I had, 
I’d up with it against so luckless a fellow as thou.” 

“Egad! the Banker shows a short memory. He 
forgets the hits, and that himself, too, pressed this 
latter venture; and if it has miscarried, haven’t I 
shown how we may recoup ? But to biz : Touching 
Bob, I should really like to be sure, Dalguspin, 
since I need a practiced hand, that he has been all 
the dare-devil he makes claim to.” 

“We can but take his word.” 


144 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Aha! Eat my old hat, but I have it,” exclaimed 
Noals after a moment’s thought. 

“What ?” 

“A way to test him.” 

“How f” 

“You say he has been in Texas ?” 

“Yes.” 

“And a Cow-boy ?” 

“So he states.” 

“Well — there’s no Cow-boy who can’t give the 
Texas Yell. That I’ll swear to; and I know the 
Yell, besides. I heard it once, and never shall for- 
get it.” 

“Yes, yes — I see, I see. We’ll try Robert.” 

The Pawn-broker rings and Robert enters. At a 
motion from the former, Robert takes up the waiter 
and is in the act of leaving with the “things,” when 
Black Isaac observes, as if accidentally : 

“Here, Robert, a moment. There’s a little favor 
you must do us.” 

“Yes, Sir,” replied Robert, turning and replacing 
the waiter on the table. 

“You say you’ve been in Texas ?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Among the Cow-boys ?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“And a Cow-boy yourself, I believe you told me?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Now, Robert, the Texas Yell is something we’ve 
often heard of, yet never heard. Let us have one, a 
real good one, Robert.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


145 


Robert made ready, stooping and twisting his 
body, and gave forth a loud, a long, a wild, wierd 
whoop. Whereupon Noals cried out : 

“Very well done ! A genuine Texas Yell.” 

“And I think, by George, it has waked up h — 11,” 
exclaimed Black Isaac, as a great noise outside 
smote his ear. 

“All the household are on us pell-mell,” chimed 
in Robert. And they all, indeed, came bursting in, 
the housekeeper with pistol, cook with carving- 
knife, scullion with broom-stick, &c., &c., and all 
shouting together : 

“Gracious Heavens! What was that ? Thought 
they were murdering you !” 

“No! no!” the Pawn-broker reassured them. 
“Robert is acting the Cow-boy. No danger, no 
danger — except to Robert’s lungs. He! he! he! 
Whoop it up again, Robert.” 

And again the fearful yell shook the chamber; 
and Noals winked hard at the Pawn-broker, as 
much as to say : 

“ATe’ZZ dor 


10 


CHAPTER X. 


WITH A PRESCRIPTION FOR DYSPEPSIA. 

The indenture binding Thomas Ruffin to Dalgus- 
pin, included no definite terms touching pay, the 
clause relating thereto stating simply that “the sec- 
ond party aforesaid, in consideration of inexperi- 
ence, agrees that his salary shall depend on the 
character of the services rendered.” The wily 
Pawn-broker explained, to Thomas’ satisfaction at 
the time, that to an ambitious young man a contin- 
gent salary of this sort, was much to be preferred 
to a fixed sum. So far, therefore, Thomas was un- 
der the thumb of the Pawnbroker, and the latter 
began to bear down. On the plea of financial pres- 
sure he had cut the wage to the extent of a half 
dollar, making it one dollar per week. 

Thomas spoke of the matter to Friend Peale, but 
his sensitiveness refused a revelation of his real 
condition. Friend Peale knew, as he thought, that 
Thomas could not be living on one dollar per week, 
leaving out of view the little extras he provided 
his Father, and supposed he must have some 


Thomas Ruffin. 


147 


source of means unknown to him — an opinion in 
which he was confirmed by Thomas’ refusing the aid 
he more than once offered. He did not press in- 
quiry touching his means ; for it was a topic which 
the shrinking Thomas seemed to wish to avoid. But 
one thing he plainly perceived, that Thomas was 
out of sorts, a prey to some secret disturbing influ- 
ence of recent origin, apparently. Whatever might 
be the cause or causes, in one direction he felt there 
was certainty, that Dalguspin was treating him most 
unjustly, and the warm-hearted Quaker, for the sec- 
ond time, sought oitt the Banker and remonstrated. 
Black Isaac replied that he was learning the young 
man bookkeeping, and that he was getting the 
worth of his services. And when Friend Peale re- 
minded him of the encomiums he had bestowed on 
Thomas at the beginning, and that he did not now 
allege a lowered efficiency, Black Isaac’s reply was 
so unsatisfactory, that the indignant Quaker gave 
him a very sharp piece of his mind. 

The fact was that Thomas Puffin was in want. Of 
his expenses he kept a most exact detailed account, 
and actually reduced the per diem for food to less 
than 12 cents. With bread (he would cut the loaf 
into just ten slices) at five cents, sugar at four cents, 
eggs at eighteen, butter at twenty, a package of 
corn starch at five, and milk at four cents a pint, 
the outlay (exact to the fraction of a cent) for a cer- 
tain day, veritably taken as an average from the 
diary preserved in his family, was as follows : 


148 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Breakfast. 


1 boiled egg, 

2 slices of bread, - 

- 

1 1-2 cts. 

. ■ 

1 

i ounce butter. 

- 

‘5-3 “ 

Cup o, content] . 

1 cent ] 
- 1-4 j 

i 1 1-4 4 3-8 cts. 

DINNER. 



f 1 egg, . . . l 

i 1 grill milk, . - - 1 

oustara ^ 1 gpoonflll corn sta rcb, 

1-2 cts. ' 

) 

1-4 “ ( 

► 3 cts. 

1 

t 1 ounce sugar, - 
2 slices bread, 

1-4 “ -> 


- 

1 “ 

1-2 ounce butter, 

- 

5-8 4 5-8 cts. 

Supper. 



Cup of content]^"- . 

1 cent ) 
1-4 “ \ 

1 1-4 cts. 

1 slice bread, 

- 

1-2 “ 

1-4 ounce butter 

rt - 

5-16 “ 2 1-16 cts 


11 1-16 cts. 

While the fact is unquestionable that Thomas Ruf- 
fin actually did supi>ort himself on such a mite, it 
should be added that he did not fall at once to these 
figures. Experimenting he found he could subsist 
on less and less, and finally got down to the above — 
the infinitesimal, one might say — and discovered he 
could live and labor. — Americans should note the 
fact, nation of spendthrifts and dyspeptics, as well 
as of tourists. We eat from habit, not from need, 
and by the matured body in moderate exercise, small, 
indeed, is the amount of food required. 

In this discipline of pabulum Thomas’ main stay 
was the special loaf he used, bought of one Arthur — 
touching whom it may be said, that if his bakery 
had one aspect, its products had quite another. The 
former was a narrow, short, old-fashioned, neglected- 
looking, three-story brick affair, squatting betwixt 
two towering modern structures, with the upper 


Thomas Ruffin. 


149 


stories for a domicile, the basement for the bakers 
and the ovens, and the front first floor apartment for 
the Shop — a little, dingy, uninviting room, 24 by 15 
feet. Here, however, the dark features end. All 
the rest is bright. Arthur’s Shop was famous. He 
had a great run of high-class customers, used the 
best material, employed the best bakers, and sold 
over the counters unequalled loaves, at the hands, 
too, of employees, it can be added, exceptionally 
engaging. These were two ladies whose physical 
characteristics differed considerably. For if one 
suggested rather a spear than a dumpling, the other 
suggested rather a dumpling than a spear. But 
each was so genteel in appearance, and so thorough- 
ly lady-like and obliging, and the delivery so gra- 
cious, that the fine loaves from their hands really 
acquired an additional attraction. 

The loaf Thomas had been recommended to buy, 
and which he did buy, a rare loaf in those days, a 
loaf difficult to make well, and whose excellency 
was one of Arthur’s prides, was the Bran loaf, giving 
the full force of the wheat berry. He soon came to 
prefer it to any other bread, in the matter of taste 
even, the bite was so substantial and satisfactory; 
and it proved the young man’s salvation. Without 
i ts bowel-regulating and tissue-forming and all round 
supporting qualities, the relentless fast, it is almost 
certain, must have ended disastrously. 

But, to be sure, Arthur’s shelves and counters held 
other good things. There were crullers so rich and 
brown — and there were cakes, of every size and shape 


150 


Thomas Ruffin. 


and shade and variety, from the penny-pound, up — 
and there were pies of all sorts, from master hands, 
fresh every day, plump and full-measured, and till- 
ing the little room with dainty, toothsome odors. 

But all this Thomas had to pass by. It involved 
effort, no doubt. In his circumstances it was, with- 
out question, a serious matter, this passing of Arthur, 
so to speak. — Dear reader, please allow the setting 
down of a thought occurring to us just here, and for 
which we assume full responsibility, that the pass- 
ing of Arthur was serious — whether it be Sir Bedi- 
vere with strained and tearful eye watching from 
the crag’s summit the dusky barge on its way to the 
“happy island-valley of Avilion, where the wind 
lies deep-meadowed,” till the black hull becomes a 
vanishing point on the mere — or the fasting Thomas 
in the aroma of this famed pastry Shop, and unable 
to go beyond the tantalizings of the eye and the 
nose. 

There was one indulgence, however, Thomas Ruffin 
occasionally permitted himself He would sometimes 
be in the Shop about 11 a. m., the hour when the 
dusty baker boy was accustomed to bring up from 
below the great trays of hot buns, with the currents 
all sticking out of them like so many tempting little 
black eyes. They were not dear, yet fine — two for 
a penny — and Thomas now and then would buy. 

One other little indulgence must be mentioned. 
On market days (it will be remembered there was a 
famous market near the Bank) Thomas would watch 
his chance to step out a moment for a glass of fresh 


Thomas Ruffin . 


151 


country butter-milk — that is, as often as he could 
spare a penny. The market man he patronized was 
one Smith, acquaintance with whose goods he made 
under these circumstances : 

In one of his first visits to the market his atten- 
tion was drawn by a huckster soliciting for aspara- 
gus — or “grass,” as usually called by the market 
men. His cries were especially shrill and assertive, 
and the vegetable itself had an interest of its own; 
for asparagus had been both a famous growth and a 
favorite dish at Cloud Cap. Thinking it odd to see 
it offered in Winter, he stopped; and to his inquiry, 
the huckster replied, that it was cut from hot house 
force beds, and then went on shouting his cries : 

“Sparagrass ! Sparagrass ! Come up, Ladies and 
Gentlemen, and see Dr. Dorsey’s celebrated, O. K., 
A No. 1, perfection Sparagrass — 

Raised under the glass — 

Best of its class — 

Good for lad and lass — ” 

(and then with a wink at Thomas’ ear) 

“To make the humors pass.” 

“Got it from old Smith over there,” said the 
huckster, replying with a grin to Thomas’ amused 
expression. Thomas glanced “over there,” and see- 
ing an uncommon press : 

“What means that ?” he asked of the huckster. 

“That old Smith sells a genuine article.” 

And so Thomas found out. For, if Smith was 
capable of palming off for his own Dean Swift’s 
triplet (with some variation), he undoubtedly sold 


152 Thomas Ruffin. 

high grade goods at first hand, and had a great 
reputation. 

Smith was an old-fashioned countryman of drawl- 
ing speech, who thrice a week drove to the city, and 
bracing the front wheels of his great wagon on the 
curb-stones outside the market-house, with tongue 
tied up and team tethered at the side, from the 
wagon’s rear, stretched out on supporting poles an 
extended canvas, with ample wings, beneath which 
were arranged the tables, with their snowy cover- 
ings, displaying baskets of the cleanest eggs, and 
ripe luscious fruits, and churns — all scrubbed till 
they shown again — of ice cold milk and butter-milk, 
and tubs of smear-case, and pails of the nicest but- 
ter prints, and, in season, great freezers of ice cream, 
&c., &c. Though aided by wife and stalwart son-in- 
law and two helps, to serve the constant throng was 
all that Smith could do. He slipped money into his 
purse, Smith did; and* would slip himself — too often, 
it is feared — into a little groggery near by, the old 
man’s only fault. Smith soon learned to know his 
customer, and at sight of Thomas began to prepare 
for him. A deep and ample old-styled tumbler three- 
fourths filled with fresh country butter-milk, into 
this a gill of sweet cream, and, on warm days, a 
lump of ice — ye gods ! what a drink it was to Thomas! 
And all for a penny ! 

These were the solitary self-indulgences, if they 
can be called so, Thomas Ruffin permitted himself. 
The ordinary recreations of young men, even the 
most self -restrained, of course were all closed out- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


153 


The many little individual wants, outside of bare 
subsistence — really often in tlie nature of necessaries 

were all closed out. True, there was tlie one dollar 
Sister Jessica brought for the chair (and it came in 
most opportunely); but it was a dollar and no more. 
True, there was the sum of seventeen dollars (out of 
the orignal five hundred) to his credit in the Savings 
Bank (not Dalguspin’s, by the way); but he had 
resolved wisely not to touch this, save under the 
extremest circumstances, the most dire necessity. 
True, Friend Peale (as has been said) repeatedly 
pressed upon him aid; but he could not accept what 
he saw no way of returning — from one, too, who, as 
Thomas knew, had just sustained business losses. 
No doubt his sensitiveness here carried him too far; 
since Friend Peale was well able to bear the losses. 
But Thomas chose his path. And truly the young 
man was put to it. 

To such a regimen and circumstances the physical 
organism must ultimately have yielded; and Thomas 
knew and felt it. But, a few months would see the 
end of service to Black Isaac. And Friend Peale 
already had in view for him more than one position 
where pay and surroundings would be of another 
sort. If all this was encouraging, Thomas drew fur- 
ther support from a sense of supreme duty done to 
his Father. There were many little wants The Home 
did not supply his Father — many little extras that 
gave his Father pleasure. For instance, frequently 
he would ask Thomas for small coin, to give, he 
said, to the “poor beggars” he would meet in the 


154 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Park, or on his walks (for he was beginning now to 
make short strolls by himself). To answer these 
and other little demands, Thomas at first drew upon 
the bank reserve, hoping soon to merit such an in- 
crease of pay as to be able to answer them from this 
latter source. When the pay was docked and the 
bank reserve had sunk below the safety point, to 
less than a score of dollars, none of these supplies 
would Thomas cut off, though it brought his own 
subsistence nigh to the vanishing point. To have 
done so would have roused suspicion in his Father’s 
mind and almost inevitably unmasked his position 
and circumstances. His Father’s enjoyments, too, 
were so few and simple, and bore so materially on 
the progress of improvement. He could not deprive 
him of any, the least, of these. Had he not been 
the tenderest, the most loving of fathers ? Through 
all the years gone by, had he not yearned over him, 
the centre of all his thought, solicitude, and activi- 
ties ? And in the day of darkness, with no light in 
his eyes, save as he looked up to him so trustfully 
for support and care, shall not affection’s debt be 
paid to the uttermost farthing ? Yes, yes — joyfully 
will he take hungerings and thirstings and whatever 
besides, to add aught of ease to his Father’s lot. 

• What gave Thomas concern was the fear he should 
be unable to conceal from his Father the actual state 
of affairs. He watched himself and made it a ppint 
never to appear otherwise than cheerful in his Fath- 
er’s presence. Over-worked and under-fed as he was, 
the dear fellow kept a bright face. Whatever depress- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


155 


ing influences might exist, whether drawn from ap- 
prehension touching Dalguspin, or from a straight- 
ened living, or any other condition or circumstance, 
he did not allow an outward manifestation. Often 
he would carry to The Home bills from the Bank 
and count them over evasively, as it were, yet so 
that his Father would see them and feel that he was 
not wanting funds. 

There was one direction, however, in which little 
innocent deceptions of this sort were impracticable. 
There was no method for, concealing the tangible 
results of rigorous and continued fasting. His by 
no means was a fattening regimen. He showed none 
of that physical degeneration knqwn as corpulency, 
so common a blotch on this high civilization of ours, 
whereof many of us are getting tired. Evidently 
his body was losing weight — his cheeks becoming 
hollowed and paler; and there were no means of dis- 
guising it from the searching observation which his 
Father’s supreme affection and morbid apprehen- 
sions constantly maintained over him. As he fear- 
ed, the first symptom of a change John Ruffin was 
quick to notice and anxiously remark upon. Thomas 
tried to laugh it off. In vain. His Father grew 
more and more disquieted. The change, as it went 
on, appeared all the more marked to John Ruffin, 
because he saw Thomas fairly but once a week, Sun- 
day. There was another circumstance, too, that 
seemed peculiar to his Father, and, in connection 
with the thinning process, deepened anxiety. As 
has been stated in this narrative, Thomas passed 


156 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Thursday night with his Father and invariably 
shared his Father’s supper, as he did all the Sunday 
meals ( — it may be observed, that, on these occasions, 
Sabina, whose warm friendship Thomas had se- 
cured, was sure to smuggle on the plates extra por- 
tions—); and what seemed of late so strange to John 
Ruffin, was, that Thomas — though the latter endeav- 
ored to control bimself and be on guard against un- 
usual and suspicious action — should get at the food 
with such eagerness. The old gentleman wondered. 
He never had seen his soon eat so before. And here 
he was, too, with such an appetite, getting thinner 
and thinner ! Thomas could see his Father’s grow- 
ing distress of mind — which by cheerfulness of de- 
meanor and in every other way, he sought vainly to 
allay. At length, there came one day a burst of 
lamentation from John Ruffin, that his son was 
diseased and must have treatment. 

Thomas declared such a thing would be absurd— 
that his Father was entirely mistaken — that his 
health was all right; and, to confirm the statement, 
fell upon an expedient that proved a boomerang. On 
the way to The Home one Thursday night, bethink- 
ing himself how it would please his Father to appear 
in the hue as well as with the substance of health, 
he vigorously applied to his face new fallen snow (a 
recipe for pallor, as he had been told), and entered 
his Father’s room with cheeks as red as cherries. 
John Ruffin at first did not know what to make of it. 
He gazed at Thomas in mute astonishment. Then be- 
came frightened and broke out into wailings, declar- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


157 


ing Thomas had a fever and that a Doctor must be sent 
for. Thomas entreated his Father, explaining that 
the flush was the natural result of cold (and in truth 
it was a wintry night), and no cause whatever for 
alarm. John Ruffin appeared to be satisfied. But 
when presently the brilliant bloom passed off, and 
reaction left the cheeks paler than before, he began 
to make a great to do again; and again was Thomas 
obliged to entreat and explain how it was all the 
effect of cold and reaction, and asked his Father how 
he could reconcile ill health with his uniform cheer- 
fulness of spirit. 

John Ruffin finally concluded that all the trouble 
lay at the root of overwork; and Thomas promised, 
that, if matters did not go on to his satisfaction, he 
would give up his position at the Bank in a month 
or so — thatotlier positions just as good, if not better, 
had been offered him already, and would continue to 
be open to him any moment he might choose to ac- 
cej)t them — having in mind Friend Peale’s good 
offices in his behalf. This had a quieting effect. 
Meanwhile, John Ruffin’s opinion of the Banker 
rapidly changed. In fact, a sentiment of animosity 
began to take root. 

The personal attentions Thomas gave his Father 
were of the most devoted character. During the 
day, at meal hours, he would often, though with 
great inconvenience, run over to The Home a mo- 
ment ; and every evening he made it a point to bid 
his Father good night. It was a sacred duty, he felt, 
and never omitted, however late the hour that saw 


158 


Thomas Ruffin. 


his release from work, and whatever might be the 
state of the weather. And whenever he foresaw that 
duties at the Bank would detain him beyond the 
usual time, he took the precaution to convey, or 
have conveyed, to his Father word to that effect, to 
avoid the distressing anxiety which he knew his 
Father, in his peculiar state of mind, would be sure 
to feel. And John Ruffin always would have a light 
at the window, to let Thomas know he was expecting 
him, either up or abed. On these occasions, when 
Thomas came in early and the weather was pleasant, 
he would walk out with his Father, at first generally 
in the Park or Square near by, and then further and 
further forth, as his Father’s health and strength 
showed signs of improvement. 

His life was solitary and manifested on its upper 
plane, as a duty first, not a pleasure, not a gain. 
Work at the desk and attentions to his Father ab- 
sorbed every moment. And amidst these duties — 
disquieting his life with its uncertainties — there was 
a burning thought constant in his mind. That af- 
fection does not fade under the influence of absence, 
was clear in his case. The thought was of Amy 
Sanford. It was a deepening, as well as a constant, 
thought. Where could she be 1 What was she do- 
ing % he would be asking himself repeatedly. He 
knew she was an orphan and moneyless, and that, 
on the score of health, she had left New Orleans and 
gone North, to fill a position of some sort. He had 
had a notion that she might be in this very city, 
since she had attended school here. But her name 


Thomas Ruffin. 


ir>9 


was not in the directory, and Friend Peale could 
give no information. Over and again had he written 
to the address of her Grandmother (Aunt Sanford), 
without replies. Was she dead, too ? He had sent 
letters, likewise, to the surviving members of the 
late House of Thomas Sanford & Co., but all in vain. 
Heart-heavy he suspended the search for want of a 
clue. The thought of Amy, however, still grew. 
The location of the school where his cousin had 
studied, was one of the first inquiries he made of 
Friend Peale after reaching the city; and invariably 
in his walks, whenever he could possibly make them 
suburban, he would take in this school and linger 
near it. Nor scarcely would a day pass and not see 
him take out the little silver locket with the Moss 
bud, that she had given him. Of nights, too, many a 
time would he wake with the locket in his hand and 
dwell fondly upon its memories. 

So come and go the dnys, completely filled. Rarely 
did he visit even the Peale residence. No time for 
it. Often, however, he saw the hearty Quaker who 
felt and manifested the warmest interest in him. 
Every day or so Friend Peale would drop in at the 
Bank about dusk, after Black Isaac had left. It 
was the hour, too, for Sandy Johnson’s frequent 
visits, and often would the three be together. Be- 
yond these Thomas Ruffin knew no one socially, it 
may be said. He held converse with few — was in 
the world, not of it, as it were. Much was he by 
himself, communing with himself, weighing present 
responsibilities and how to meet them, and so led on 


160 


Thomas Ruffin. 


and on to revolving the further and deeper problems 
of life. It was a lifting influence to Thomas, who 
thus followed, if afar off, those illustrious spirits 
that have gathered power in seclusion. The silent 
communings of Manresa ennobled St. Ignatius; and 
was it not from the cloisters of Citeaux and Clair- 
vaux that St. Bernard drew the strength that made 
him the oracle of Christendom ? Great souls are 
formed in solitude. 


CHAPTER XI. 


A DISCOVERY. 

It was Thursday, to John Ruffin one of the two 
bright days of the week. Thomas was to be with 
him that night. All day long he had worked hard 
to finish a chair for Sandy Johnson. The Shoemaker 
was to call for it that evening. Pressed for time he 
had refused to allow Sabina to “do” his room at the 
usual morning hour. Towards the afternoon’s close 
the chair was finished, and to relieve his cramped 
body the old gentleman walked out, notwithstanding 
the lowering weather. Scarcely had he gone, when 
Sister Jessica called. She left flowers, saying she 
might call again, on her way back before dark, if 
the weather permitted. Miss Kitty, finding John 
Ruffin out, hurried up Sabina to make use of the 
chance to “do” the room, and not knowing how long 
he had been gone, and fearing his return before the 
room was done, or properly done, especially since 
of late he had been complaining — causelessly, no 
doubt— about his room, she presently followed Sa- 
bina, to stimulate her work. 

“Dust up, Sabina, dust up,” she said with an 
11 


162 


Thomas Ruffin. 


accent somewhat of reprimand, as she entered the 
room and found Sabina had not been as brisk as she 
might have been. 

“Yes’m, Miss Kitty, I is dustin’ up, an’ de dus’ is 
all up my nose, too,” replied Sabina, dusting vigor- 
ously, and confirming her nasal declaration by a 
succession of very violent reports and sneezings. 

Miss Kitty stood a moment in a degree of aston- 
ishment at these remarkable explosions, remarkable 
even for Sabina — then observed : 

“If ye’d been doin’ yer duty, ye’d been through, 
and yer nose would niver be a dust-hole.” 

4 ‘Yes’ m, Miss Kitty,” Sabina responded, energet- 
ically plying the brush, and accompanying the stim- 
ulated duty with one of her peculiar and expressive 
guffaws. 

“Misther Ruffin’s been spaking about his room.” 

“Yes’m, Miss Kitty.” 

“Dust up well, Sabina,” repeated the House- 
keeper, but in a softened and encouraging tone, as 
she turned towards the door, retiring after the simil- 
itude of good wine, that leaves a pleasant farewell 
on the lips. 

“Yes’m, Miss Kitty, yes’m,” was the iterated as- 
surance of the negress, as she dusted away with yet 
quickened vigor and renewed guffaws; for apparently 
she was so abundantly stocked with these explosives, 
that a very little effort brought forth, as it were, an 
involuntary discharge. 

Sabina having reconnoitered the door and finding 
Miss Kitty was not watching outside, for the moment 


Thomas Ruffin. 


163 


ceased “doing” and dusting, to examine the pictures. 
She had heard and she really felt the story of John 
Ruffin’s life, and both himself and Thomas had a 
warm place in her heart. She could see they had 
been “grand folks” as she termed it. An air of 
gentle blood was manifest in Thomas, and his Father, 
even in his present afflicted condition, gave abund- 
ant evidence of the high strung Southern gentleman 
of the old regime. Then, too, the unusual consid- 
eration shown John Ruffin through the Peale influ- 
ence — the spacious room assigned him, the peculiar 
privileges allowed — naturally tended to advance the 
Ruffins further in Sabina’s estimation. She consid- 
ered The Home distinguished by their presence, and 
herself honored as being the servant especially in 
charge. In rendering service she was ever ready and 
most amiable, and John Ruffin, as before has been 
intimated, became really attached to her. These 
pictures on the walls he had explained to Sabina 
from time to time, and, as representative of his past 
life, they possessed for her an irresistible attraction. 
While “doing” the room, day after day, she never 
seemed to tire of examining them, with a running 
comment enlivened by the guffaws with which it was 
her wont to emphasise her opinions and sentiments; 
and this particular day did not prove an exception, 
though the work had been so hurried up. 

“Dese picturs, dey tells me,” she said, looking 
up, “ is where de ol’ man lived way down Souf. Dey 
calls dis”— examining the first print — “Cloud Cap. 
Don’t see any cloud, only house” — a guffaw point- 


1(54 


Thomas Ruffin. 


ing her criticism. “Mighty fine house, though, in de 
trees an’ flowers. — An’ dis” — examining the second 
print — “dey says, is his cotton patch. Sakes alive ! 
how de niggurs is a pickin’ ob de cotton !” — a peal- 
ing guffaw, enough to have brought back Miss Kitty, 
signalizing her amusement. “An’ dis” — third print 
— “is de rice patch. — An’ dis” — fourth print — “de 
sugar mill. — So rich ! so rich ! an’ now here at de 
Home, gone crazy an’ a bottomin’ cheers ! Lord ha’ 
mercy! No money, no sense, no nuthin’ ter help 
him, but he son Thomas, an’ him so tender like ! 
Trouble, trouble, dey tells me, made him go crazy. 
My ! my ! my ! dis worl’ ! dis worl’ ! 

Dat shoemaker, Sandy Johnson, brings dis here 
cheer here” — dusting the chair as she speaks — “to 
be bottomed. An’ I heerd ’m say Mr. Thomas buys 
dese ol’ cheers at auction-house, an’ den gits Sandy 
Johnson ter bring ’m here, an’ den gives de money 
ter Sandy ter pay for de bottom, an’ den Sandy he 
give Mr. Thomas’ money ter Mr. Ruffin, jes’ ter 
’muse him like an’ make him think he’s helpin’ ter 
git along. I’m buyin’ shucks fur him all de time, 
an’ all de time, day an’ night, he’s a twistin’ and a 
twistin’ de splits, ’cause he say, he wants ter help 
Mr. Thomas to git along. Sandy Johnson say he 
knowed him at de ol’ home, but he won’t let him 
fin’ it out, ’cause he say, he don’t like ter see he ol’ 
friends. Funny!” she added, as another guffaw 
roundly asserted her sense of the whimsical. 

While indulging in these reflections, Sabina was 


Thomas Ruffin. 


1 6 f) 


busy all the time dusting and tidying the room. As 
she turned to the table the dowers Sister Jessica 
had just left, attracted attention. She had dis- 
covered that almost every posy contained, among 
others, a certain kind of dower, and had found out/ 
by inquiry of Miss Kitty and others, that this dower 
was the Moss Rose, She had noticed, further, that 
Thomas Ruffin all the while would be wearing these 
Mosses. Now, by no manner of means was Sabina 
an intellectual character, yet was she not without 
some faculty of reason, and having put the above 
facts together she had drawn a signidcant conclusion 
touching the supposed relations of Thomas and 
Sister Jessica. A pleasing conclusion to her it was; 
for the Sister, too, had won the negro woman by the 
gracious consideration she invariably showed her. 
The latter had a dxed notion that a voice so sweet 
and a manner so gentle could belong only to a charm- 
ing young lady; and, knowing nothing touching the 
celibate vows of sisterhood, the profane opinion had 
gotten into her noddle that “Miss Jessie” (as she 
designated her, after John Ruffin’s manner of 
address; for she had declared, sealing the declara- 
tion with a decided guffaw, that “dis here nigger 
ain’t a gwine fur ter call dat Lady — Sister ”) ought 
to be, in Sabina’s vernacular, somebody’s jularkie. 

u I’ll bet dat sweet Miss Jessie brought dese,” was 
Sabina’s emphatically expressed opinion, as she 
placed the duster on the table to examine the flowers. 

“She’s alius bringin’ flowers. An’ I b’lieve Mr. 
Thomas is makin’ up ter her, I does” — with 


166 


Thomas Ruffin. 


one of her amorous guffaws, as low and tender 
and bewitching as she could make that mode of ex- 
pression. “Looks so to me. Dare is one flower alius 
in her bunch, Moss Roses. Here it be” — examin- 
ing flowers. “Dat mus’ be her flower. An' den I 
see Mr. Thomas, all de time now, wid Moss Roses 
in he button-hole. Looks ter me like he’s gwine to 
set up to her” — saluting the iterated sentiment with 
another guffaw of the same tender sort of character. 

“Dis’ll do, I reckons,” Sabina remarked, survey- 
ing the room and feeling satisfied with the results of 
broom and duster. 

It was directly after her leaving that Thomas Ruffin 
came in, by the private entrance. The flowers im- 
mediately caught his eye, and he knew Sister Jessica 
had called. Her last posy had particularly attracted 
him, containing, as it did, a full blown Luxembourg 
Moss and a Comtesse de Murinais Moss bud, most 
beautiful specimens of the choicest varieties, the 
former a brilliant carmine, the latter pure white — 
blooms so exceptionally lovely and with associations 
so dear, that Thomas had composed some lines upon 
them. He noticed, too, that this posy included cer- 
tain exact similitudes of those in the last — that is, a 
full-blown Luxembourg and a Comtesse de Murinais 
bud, and, having transferred them to a button-hole, 
he was engaged on a note to his Father, telling him 
he had stepped over to say extra work would make 
him two hours late, when Sabina entered and an- 
nounced “Miss Jessie” in the receiving room. 

If a surprise to Thomas — Saturday uniformly had 


Thomas Ruffin. 167 

been the Sister’s visiting day — it was an agreeable 
one, and Thomas then and there decided to take half 
an hour from his desk, and seize the opportunity, so 
long and so much desired, of meeting this Sister. 
He requested Sabina, therefore, to ask her in. 

She entered. Thomas introduced himself. The 
Sister glanced around for John Ruffin, when Thomas 
informed her his Father had walked out, that he 
must certainly be back presently, and asked her to 
please be seated and wait a few moments — particu- 
larly as he wished himself to speak to her. He did 
not offer his hand, having heard it was against cus- 
tom, if not against a rule, for a religeuse to receive 
the hand of a man. In subdued tone the Sister 
spoke of its being late and time’s pressing, and could 
give him, she said, a few moments only, taking, as 
she spoke, a seat apart and in silence. The bearing 
of man towards woman, as essentially distinguished 
from that of man towards man, is marked by a pe- 
culiar softness, a delicacy and a reserve, which is 
sexual and inherent; and if before men Thomas 
Ruffin was a retiring character, much more was he 
thus, under ordinary conditions, in the presence of 
women. Yet his behavior on this occasion was com- 
paratively free. The circumstances were excep- 
tional. His Father had spoken of Sister Jessica so 
often and so lovingly, and her kindnesses towards 
him had been so manifold and thoughtful and salu- 
tary, and he had cherished himself so deep a senti- 
ment of gratitude, that not only did‘she seem to him 
to be no stranger, but a bond was felt to exist be- 


168 


Thomas Ruffin. 


tween them. Besides, in areligeuse the notion of sex 
is replaced by that of the institution. And the 
topics, too, whereon he wished to speak were ener- 
gizing. 

“Sister Jessica, 5 ’ said Thomas, opening the con- 
versation, “you’ve been kind, indeed, to my Father.” 

He paused a moment, and the Sister responded to 
the implied expression of thanks by a slight incli- 
nation of the head. 

“My Father seems more patient and contented, 
since he has known you. It delights him to see you, 
and I wish to let you know how deeply grateful I 
am for your most kind attentions.” 

The Sister again bowed in response. 

“I notice,” said Thomas, after another brief pause, 
“that your posies always have Moss Roses.” 

The Sister again replied in a bow. 

“It’s my Father’s favorite, as you’ve found out, 
and for myself has dear associations on other grounds, 
besides. I cultivated it at our old home. I am 
somewhat read, too, in its literature, and as a bloomer 
only knew it as having a short season in the Spring; 
and it has appeared strange to me to see the flowers 
in Winter.” 

The Sister not replying to the implied interroga- 
tion, Thomas put the direct question : 

“Will you please explain this, Sister Jessica ?” 

“They are furnished,” she answered, in a low tone, 
“by a friend, an experienced florist. Fecundatin 
Moss Roses with the pollen of the ever bloomin 
sorts, he produces a group! of perpetual Mosses; and 


crq crq 


Thomas Ruffin. 


169 


the nursery and force bed give the Winter bloom.” 

“And yet the blooms in the crossing do not appear 
to have lost any of the peculiar beauty which marks 
the Moss.” 

“The florist, though a young man, is an expert in 
the cultivation of tl^is particular rose.” 

L “They must be costly,” remarked Thomas. 

“Our friend has become interested in their pur- 
pose, and furnishes them without price.” 

“He is very kind, certainly.” 

There was another brief pause, and then Thomas 
observed : 

“I see among the flowers to-day the same varieties 
of the Moss as in the last bouquet, and in the same 
stage of growth.” 

The Sister bowed her acquiescence. 

“And I appropriated them, with My Father’s per- 
mission, as you see I’ve done these.” 

The Sister again inclined her head in silence. 

“Indeed, they are lovely flowers, and as I looked 
down on their beauty the other day and thought 
upon their memories, I composed some lines, and — ” 

Thomas paused in the sentence, as if bethinking 
himself of the propriety of what he was about to 
say. 

“You’ve been so faithful and so kind, Sister Jes- 
sica, in bringing these Mosses, I will repeat the 
lines,” he modestly said, “should you care to hear 
them.” 

“Certainly,” came the low reply; and Thomas 
gave the lines, extending with his left hand the 


170 Thomas Ruffin. 

lapel of the coat and looking down on the bouton- 
niere as he spoke : 

If among flowers the Rose is the queen, 

The Moss is the queen. rose. And here are seen 
The queens of the Moss. A Luxembourger this, 
Flowering out in crimson loveliness ; 

And this bud a Comtesse de Murinais. 

It has no equal — nothing can eclipse 
This rose-bud, bursting from its mossy lips. 

Its freshness, sweetness, and lovely hue, 

Of youth and beauty make exponent true ; 

And theme has been for poetry and art. 

Withal— it lends a point to Cupid’s dart, 

And speaks a tender language to the heart, 

The language of — Love confessed. 

“Thank you,” gently spoke the Sister ; and 
Thomas went on : 

“I wear, Sister Jessica, a Moss Rose all the 
while,” disengaging, as he spoke, a small silver 
locket, held about his neck by a delicate chain of 
the same metal. “I’m sure my Father has spoken 
to you about my Cousin, Amy Sanford. We grew 
up together, and at our last parting she gave me 
this locket, holding a Moss bud from the bush we 
had planted together, in the days when sunshine 
was all about us.” 

Thomas’ emotion began to be embarrassing and he 
stopped a moment for self-control. During the 
pause the Sister, having occasion to use her hand- 
kerchief, drew forth with it a paper which fell from 
her pocket to the door, unobserved either by her- 
self or by Thomas ; for it was the close of a dark 
evening, nor had the lamp been lighted. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


171 


“Amy,” Thomas went on without break or pause, 
in a headlong impetuous way strangely unlike him, 
kindling with the theme, ‘‘was very dear to us and 
her family shared the misfortunes of ours and she’s 
now an orphan too as I’ve heard and burning her 
bread somewhere up North and I’ve had a notion 
she was probably in this city for she attended 
school here but my searchings have been all in 
vain and a near friend of mine a leading citizen 
here can give me no tidings and I’ve written and 
written to New Orleans to get her address from her 
Grand-mother and my own Aunt who is living or 
was living there but I’ve not been able — ” 

Borne on by a swell of feeling Thomas was speak- 
ing with rapid energy, when, confused by the con- 
sciousness of his warmth and egotism, he suddenly 
stopped short, with an apology : 

“You must excuse me, Sister, for speaking so of 
myself. These personal matters are nothing to you. 
But you can understand now my interest in Moss 
Boses.” 

The Sister rose, saying it was late, and bid 
Thomas adieu. 

Thomas drew a chair to a window and had finish- 
ed the note to his Father (whose absence, by the 
way, did not give him concern, as John Buffin often 
now in favorable weather sat late in the Park of 
evenings), when he noticed a paper on the floor near 
where the Sister had been sitting. He picked it up. 
It was an envelope, square and of pinkish hue, un- 
sealed, folded once upon itself, and containing some- 


172 


Thomas Ruffin. 


thing. What it contained, however, was not ma- 
terial to Thomas. His gaze was riveted on the en- 
velope, which he turned over and over and examined 
in the more pxcited manner. Then he rushed to a 
trunk of his, kept in his Father’s room and holding 
some of his most valued things, and took out an en- 
velope which he carefully compared with the other. 
They seemed identical. Evidently Thomas was 
greatly excited, breathing rapidly with lips apart, 
and color coming and going. He was still contrast- 
ing the envelopes, when the door was rapped, and 
to his response Sister Jessica re-entered. 

“Hid I drop a paper here containing money?” she 
asked with hurry in her manner. 

“Yes, Sister. Please be seated.” 

“My time is limited, and the limit has been 
passed.” 

“But I must speak, Sister Jessica,” replied Thomas 
with a trembling voice, scarce able to control the 
excitement under which he was laboring. “Pray 
be seated, if but for a moment.” 

The Sister took a chair near the door where she 
had been standing. 

“Sister Jessica,” said Thomas, holding up the en- 
velopes, one in either hand, “the envolepe, you must 
know, is both novel and rare, and is it possible, by 
mere chance, these should be the self-same in size, 
in shape, in color, and ih the monagram of A. S. ; for 
I can make out the letters, I think, on yours, though 
the impression be worn % This you dropped here. 
And the other contains the last note to me from Amy 


Thomas Ruffin. 


173 


Sanford. She must be in this city, as I have sus- 
pected; or you must know something about her.” 

The Sister did not reply immediately, and Thomas 
implored her : 

“Sister Jessica, why do you not speak ? I must 
know the truth.” 

“Mr. Ruffin,” came the reply in a low, deliberate 
voice, “if there has been a discovery, in my view the 
circumstances under which it has been made, should 
go far, at the least, to bind a man of honor to respect 
the wish of the party interested. If you will pledge 
your word absolutely to reveal to none what I shall 
have said, I will speak. Otherwise my lips are 
closed, and moreover my visits to your Father must 
cease.” 

There was nothing for Thomas to do but to give 
the pledge, and the Sister continued : 

“Yes — Amy Sanford is in this city, and wishes to 
remain unknown. I was with her in a long illness 
at a Church Home. We became close friends, and 
her giving me, as a novelty, a number of these bits 
of paper has been the means of disclosing her. Sin- 
gular are the ways of Providence !” 

The Sister paused — then went on : 

“She confided to me her history. It was to gratify 
her most vehement desire that I began these visits to 
your Father. She it is who furnishes the flowers 
and the chair and the pay. In all I have done for 
him I have acted under her direction and as her 
representative. I can say no more now. To-morrow 
you will receive a letter.” 


174 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Let me ask,’ ’ said Thomas who had been listen- 
ing with rapt attention, “how my Cousin is faring?” 

“At present her circumstances are peculiar. I can 
say she is among the friends she has made, and is 
well — save in so far as the sorrows of your house 
and her own, weigh upon her. 

But I say no more. It is beyond my time limit 
and the weather threatens. You must neither follow 
nor inquire about me. Remember the pledge. By 
next mail will come a letter.” 

With these words the Sister, receiving the envel- 
ope, bade Thomas adieu. 

All in a quiver Thomas hastened backto the Bank. 
He had fasted that day with more rigor than usual, 
Jn anticipation of having supper with his Father, 
and, before renewing work, ran stumbling up stairs 
to his room, to draw a cup of tea. His feelings can 
better be imagined than described. 

Amy in this city (so ran his thoughts) ! I knew it ! 
I knew it ! I had the strongest conviction she was 
somewhere near. I have read in a book of innate at- 
tractions and antipathies, and it seemed to me I could 
feel my Cousin’s presence! — But why should Amy 
live hidden ? And from me, least of all ? And 
how happens it that Friend Peale knows nothing 
about her ? Strange! Passing strange ! But there’s 
to be a letter ! — And what can Amy be doing ? And 
who are these friends she has made and with whom 
she is living ? And who is this florist friend that 
furnishes without price the costly flowers ? And his 
face clouded as the thought obtruded : And what 


Thomas Ruffin. 


175 


might not possibly be his relations to Amy? No, 
no, he reassured himself, the well-born Amy Sanford 
cannot be thinking of a florist. Amy cannot have 
forgotten us. She is well, the Sister says, except 
that our sorrows, with her own, weigh upon her. 
Surely her heart is towards us ! How can it be 
otherwise ! There is mystery, but out of it would 
come light and joy, and thrills would flash through 
and through him. 

He struck a light. He always felt better, when 
night set in and the lamp brightened his dark little 
room. It cast a spell, as it were, upon its defects, 
and he could no longer look out and have invidious 
contrasts forced on him. His room now seemed to 
be uncommonly bright, and the little clock on the 
shelf more sympathetic than usual. The clock and 
himself had become really good friends. Of nights 
he would lie awake so often and listen to its tick, 
and it seemed to be talking to him kindly. It ap- 
peared now to tick clearer and brisker than ever, as 
though speaking to him with renewed encourage- 
ment. He drew the tea and drank the cup of cheer 
all lifted up. The theatre of life seemed suddenly 
to be expanding around him — new motives present- 
ing — new springs of action developing — and he went 
down to his desk with a most hearty good-will. 


CHAPTER XII. 


WHICH NUMERICALLY FOLLOWS THE FOREGOING, AND 
IS ITS IMMEDIATE CONTINUATION. 

Though the evening was dark and lowering, it was 
uncommonly mild, and, as Thomas had said, his 
Father had been sitting and walking in the Square 
or Park near by — a favorite resort. ‘It was after 6, 
when he returned to his room with a small cat ’o nine 
tails in his hand. Since his affliction he had become 
as afraid of dogs as an Indian, and, when in the 
Park, it was his fancy to carry a cat, rather than a 
cane, to frighten them off. 

Sabina was on hand, to trim and light the lamp, 
mend the fire, bring fresh water, &c. He read 
Thomas’ note, with a mutter of reproach against the 
Banker for overburdening his son — was very sorry 
to have missed seeing “Sister Jessie” — and would 
have supper, when Thomas came in. 

Presently Sabina returned, to say that Sandy John- 
son had called. He had come, by agreement, for his 
chair, the third he had brought to be bottomed. 
The visits connected with the first two and with the 
bringing of this one, had been very short, Sandy 


Thomas Ruffin. 


177 


fearing recognition. Finding he had little to fear, 
he purposely prolonged the j)resent visit, to observe 
John Ruffin more closely and satisfactorily; and this 
he desired to do as well on his old townsman’s ac- 
count, as on that of Thomas Ruffin’s, to whom he 
had become strongly attached. 

These chairs of Sandy’s, with those Sister Jessica 
brought, occupied all of John Ruffin’s handicraft 
time. He worked only when he felt disposed; and, 
besides, over the work itself exercised the most pa- 
tient and exacting particularity. It was found no 
easy matter to get just the proper kind of husk or 
shuck (as the covering of the corn-ear is called 
throughout the South). The northern article is much 
below the southern in its pliant, fine-grained, silk- 
like quality; and this latter John Ruffin made the 
standard. Then, he would use only the second 
or third shuck leaf from the ear. Then, the splits 
must all be of a precise width by a definite individ- 
ual measurement. Then, they would have to be 
dampened or lie in water just so many minutes. And 
then, again, the least flaw in the twist would require 
an untwisting back and correction, it being not an 
unfrequent thing for him to rip up the fine work of 
a half or even a whole bottom, to correct an irregu- 
larity or unevenness in an early twist that had been 
overlooked. When the chair finally left his hand 
approved, you may be sure the seat was a model of 
close, smooth, neat workmanship. 

John Ruffin would buy shucks often in small lots, 
the cost being a song (“not worth shucks” is a eom- 
12 


178 


Thomas Ruffin. 


mon southern expression for worthlessness). Sabina 
generally was the purchasing agent, and frequently 
he would tax severely her good nature, as well as 
that of Miss Kitty, by requiring her to fetch him 
samples from livery-stable or mat or mattress fac- 
tory in distant sections of the city. Sabina being 
but. an indifferent judge, not a few of her purchases 
were thrown away entirely, with a round scolding 
for her stupidity — to all of which the negro woman 
would respond with a respectful guffaw. 

Sabina’s announcement of Sandy’s having called, 
was followed, a moment later, by the entrance of 
Sandy, who, as he came in, placed his Scotch cap on 
the top of the bureau near the door. 

“What d’you want?” asked John Ruffin queru- 
lously, forgetting who his visitor was. It may be 
his well-being and his humor had not been improved 
by the stay in the damp evening atmosphere of the 
Park. More likely, his feelings were ruffled by the 
injustice of the Banker in imposing extra work 
upon Thomas, and keeping him two hours beyond 
time, late in the night. Probably, each cause was 
operating. At any rate, highly irascible evidently 
he was; and in this state of mind he had forgotten 
that Sabina had announced Sandy Johnson a moment 
before. 

“Me chair, Sir,” responded Sandy in a hearty way. 

“Oh-h ! it’s you — Johnson — the shoemaker. There 
it is.” 

“It’s- gude wark,” remarked Sandy, examining the 
chair admiringly. “Ye hae mad it look sae braw, I 


Thomas Ruffin. 


179 


scarce wud ken me auld restin’ piece. And here’s 
the money” — handing a silver dollar. 

Sandy seated himself in his chair and regarded his 
old townsman with tender interest, while the latter 
— notwithstanding Sandy’s being a customer — look- 
ed amazed at his stay, and asked sharply : 

“What do you want now f” 

“Me change, Sir. I gied ye a dollar, Sir.” 

“O-h !” John Ruffin responded, and then began 
fumbling in his pocket — brought out the dollar — 
looked hard at it a moment, as if collecting his 
thoughts — went to the bureau— fumbled in the upper 
drawer, placing part of the contents on top of bureau 
upon Sandy’s cap — found a half dollar — replaced 
contents of drawer, Sandy’s cap being among them — 
handed the half dollar to Sandy — and resuming seat, 
asked with an added emphasis, as Sandy still re- 
mained chaired : 

“What d’you want now?” 

“Me cap, Sir. When ye payback the things, me 
cap gaed in, too.” 

“Oh-li !” exclaimed John Ruffin, after a moment’s 
reflection. Then he went to the bureau, and, having 
fumbled in the drawer, got Sandy’s cap and gave it 
to him. Then took his seat, and, thoroughly wor- 
ried at Sandy’s prolonged stay, asked almost fiercely: 
* “What d’you want NOW ?” 

“To rest a bit, if ye please,” replied Sandy in the 
pleasantest way. 

A pause followed, during which Sandy took from 
the table the cat o’ nine tails, and regarded it curi- 
ously. 


180 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“A cat! What’s the cat for, Sir?” 

“Troublesome fellows.” 

“Ha ! ha ! ha ! Iver use it, Sir ?” 

“On dogs — sometimes.” 

“Mony troublesome dogs aboot, Sir?” 

“Yes — some on four legs,” snappishly replied 
John Ruffin, from whose clouded reason would come 
now and then unlooked for flashes of bright intelli- 
gence. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” was Sandy’s greeting of the sally, 
just as Sabina entered in her bustling way, and with 
a sample shuck in hand. 

“0 Mr. Ruffin !” — Sabina paused at her intrusion, 
as she recognized Sandy’s presence. 

“What now, Sabina?” 

“Dare’s a man here as what’s got shucks, an’ yer 
axed me fur ter git some ter day fur yer.” 

“Well — bring ’em in, Sabina.” 

“Bring ’em in !” (with a great guffaw). “La ! Mr. 
Ruffin, dey’s a cart-load !” 

“A cart-load !” 

“Yes, Mr. Ruffin, a good cart-load.” 

“A cart load of shucks, you fool !” 

“Yes, Mr. Ruffin,” rejoined Sabina glibly, in 
happy oblivion of the old gentleman’s opinion of her 
stolidity; “an’ where does yer want ’em ter stay !” 

“In the cart, Sabina.” * 

Sabina paused in reflection — then queried naively: 

“An’ where does yer want de cart to stay ?” 

“Behind the horse, Sabina.” 

Sabina again paused in the endeavor to take in 


Thomas liujjin. 


181 


John Ruffin’s disposition of tlie shucks, and had 
started another query : 

“An’ where does yer want — when John Ruffin 
vigorously broke in : 

“And I want you , you black goose, to stay out of 
this room.” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Sandy; and for volume 
of effort Sabina was not behind the jovial Scot in a 
rousing guffaw, ending in a very high key, as she 
sailed from the apartment. 

The Sabina episode had not abated John Ruffin’s 
impatience at the shoemaker’s unwarrantable stay 
in spite of broad hints. He was so nettled that he 
had a thought of calling in assistance, to have him 
put out. Taking in hand an unfinished chair he be- 
gan twisting away at the splits, every moment or so 
glancing nervously at the clock. Presently he re- 
marked, with significant look at the time piece : 

“It’s getting late.” 

“But ye’ll let a customer rest his auld banes. I 
work vera’ hard, Sir.” 

“I work hard, too” — twisting energetically — “and 
like to work by myself, too.” 

Sandy passed the hint by, and, recalling the pat- 
rimony he had squandered in early life, remarked 
(he knew he was venturing on risky ground, yet was 
desirous of prolonging the conversation as far as he 
could) : 

“Like mony ithers, I hae seen better days, Sir.” 

John Ruffin gave him a suspicious glance; yet 
Sandy ventured on : 


i82 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Aince I hed casli and to spare, but like mony 
ithers I gaed doon, and lied a warsle wi’ want, Sir.” 

Suddenly John Ruffin turned upon Sandy a search- 
ing look, followed up by a query, and the latter for 
a moment thought he was gone. 

“Do you know anything about me?” 

“I ken ye do gude wark on chairs,” came the 
ready reply. 

There was a change of manner — perhaps the tie of 
kindred misfortune came up — as John Ruffin added 
after a pause : 

“All gone ? Nothing at all now ?” 

“Na, na — I canna say juist that. I hae a wee sum 
pat awa’ in a Bank.” 

And with the word “Bank” came rushing to John 
Ruffin’s mental front the relations of Thomas and 
Dalguspin, which all the while had been the basic 
thought and source of his acrimony. 

“A Bank !” he exclaimed, ceasing work and rous- 
ing in the direction we have indicated. “What 
Bank ?” 

“Dalguspin’ s — Do ye ken ony thing aboot it?” 

“Bad Bank ! Work 'em to death.!” 

“Ah — but I hae a young freend in that Bank , Sir, 
and pat me money thar, because he’s tliar.” 

“Who is he?” John Ruffin asked earnestly; for 
he was now all awake. Possibly it might be “Tam- 
mie,” bethought. (Thomas had informed his Father 
there were two other clerks in the establishment , 
John and his assistant in the Pawn-Shop). 

“A weel, aweel, I canna gie fu’ eenformation. I 


Thomas Muffin. 183 

bae tried to find oot tlie young mon, but be keeps 
bis ain counsel.” 

“ Who is he ?"— with increasing emphasis. 

“A gude customer o’ mine, Sir. He brings to tbe 
shop his ain sboone and bis Father’s, and a mair 
winsome, weel bred, weel spoken young mon, ye 
may sarch amang a million for, but canna find him.” 

“Who is he, I say ?” — in excited tones. 

“Wha is he ? Why, he’s a new dark in the Bank, 
Sir — cam frae the South — and is a gentleman, Sir, a 
born gentleman. That' s wha he is, Sir ” 

“BUT WHAT’S HIS NAME showing great 
excitement. 

“Weel, noo, ye hae me fast,” replied Sandy with 
provoking composure. “I canna gie a’ his name. I 
ken the first part only.” 

“My God! man, WHATS'S THAT ?” almost 
screamed John Ruffin, and rising as he spoke. 

“Tammas they ca’ him at the Bank , Sir, and I ken 
him as Mr. Tammas.” 

At the mention of “Thomas,” John Ruffin at once 
calmed down, and a low, inward, happy laugh was 
seen to move his frame. 

“I maun gang,” remarked Sandy, rising. 

“No, no, no ! Stay ! stay !” objected the old gen- 
tleman, approaching Sandy and affectionately pla- 
cing an opposing hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s gettin’ late,” Sandy said, glancing at the 
clock. 

“No, no, no, Mr. , Mr. ” (trying to recall 

the name of Johnson) “Mr. Shoemaker. It’s not 


184 


Thomas Ruffin. 


late, and the wind blows cold. Don’t j t ou hear it? 
Stay and warm yourself.” 

Lovingly he pressed Sandy back into his seat. 
Next, drew his own chair close to Sandy’s; and as 
the latter answered the questions he asked about 
“Tammie r ” John Ruffin paused, seriatim, to take it 
all in. The praises Sandy so freely bestowed upon 
his son were sweeter than honey and the honey 
comb. Ripples of inward joy played over his frame 
and broke in smiles upon his face. Sandy exerted 
himself to the utmost to humor him, and took vast 
delight in being the means of imparting delight to 
his old townsman’s heart. 

“You say your young friend is named ‘Tammie !’ ” 

“Ay, ay, Sir. ‘Mr. Tammas,’ I ca’ him.” 

“You say your ‘Tammie’ is a nice young man?” 

“In a’ me born days I hae niver seen ane half sae 
nice. He taks me heart, Sir.” 

“Is your ‘Tammie’ tall or low?” 

“Tall and slender like.” 

“How does your ‘Tammie’ talk?” 

“Whan ye start him, he talks right alang. Gin 
ye is sae modest, he lies gude lamin’, and talks 
juist like a bookie, gin ye tak him right.” 

“What kind of eyes has your ‘Tammie?’ ” 

“Nae lassie hes sweeter — dark brown tender een, 
a sparklin’, whan he lifts ’em, wi’ inteelligence and 
feelin’.” 

“What kind of hair has your ‘Tammie?’ ” 

“Ah! his hair, indeed, Sir! It’s auburn, a lovely 
auburn.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


185 


* 

“And is it soft and wavy?” 

“Ay, ay, thar ye liae it, Sir. It’s soft as silk, 
and wavy like, and wlian bright light’s on it, 
shines wi’ changing color, like a settlin’ sea, touchit 
by a settin’ sun.” 

“Does your Tammie’ — ?” 

“But I maun gang. It’s late,” said Sandy, rising 
and interrupting. 

“No-o, no-o ! It’s not so late,” dissuaded John 
Ruffin, rising with Sandy. 

“Na, na — I maunna stay. Time for honest fouk 
to be abed.” 

“Well — I’m glad, glad you’ve been here, Mr. — 
Mr. — Mr. Shoemaker. God bless you and your 
friend ‘Tammie,’ too.” 

“The same to ye, Sir. And as for Mr. Tarn- 
mas, why he may draw on me to the last 
dollar.” 

“Now, why don’t you say to the last 'breathf'* 

“Ha! ha! ha! Ay, ay, to the last breath, too, 
Sir,” Sandy responded ; and closing thus a conver- 
sation in a tune quite different from that with which 
it had begun, the warm-hearted, ready-witted Scot 
shouldered his chair and left. 

John Ruffin drew the dollar from his pocket — 
looked at it reflectively — then opened a bureau 
drawer — took out powder and a piece of flannel — 
and, as he rubbed up the coin, treated himself to a 
soliloquy : 

“He didn’t know he was talking to Tammie’ s 
Father. I wouldn’t tell him” — with a little chuckle 


186 


Thomas Ruffin. 


at Ms acuteness. “I didn’t want to hear false 
praise.. If he’d known I’m Tammie’s Father, he 
might’ve given me blarney. But he didn’t know it” 
— another little chuckle. — “Dear, dear Tammie. 
He’s all the man said and a thousand times more. 

I’ 11 make this dollar bright for him. ’ Tisn’ t much, but 
I must help Tammie. I used to think he’d never 
catch on, and kept heaping up a pile, to take care 
of Tammie; but now Tammie’s taking care of me. 
It’s most time he was here” — looking up at the 
clock. But not seeing clearly the figures on its face, 
he had risen from the chair for a nearer view, when 
Sabina rushed in after the obstreperous fashion not 
uncommon with her, even when comparative trifles 
were in question : 

“Mr. Ruffin ! Mr. Ruffin ! Oh ! Mr. Ruffin !” 

“What! What! What!” cried John Ruffin in 
great alarm. 

“Mr. Ruffin !” exclaimed Sabina, with both hands- 
up and shaking all over as though palsied, “ your 
Tommie’s in a fit /” 

“My God ! Woman ! my God ! Where’s the child?” 

“La ! Mr. Ruffin !” — with a great guffaw. “Sakes 
alive ! don’t do so. It’s Tom Cat you pet so. Dey 
wants you to cut its tail fur de fit.” 

“The cat’s tail !” gasped John Ruffin, with feelings 
outraged and panting from shock — “the cat’s tail! 
you confounded black huzzy ! I’ll give you fits with 
this cat o’ nine tails;” and, seizing the cat, he made 
for Sabina, who fled screaming and guffawing from 
the room. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“Thjp kindest and the happiest pair.” — Cowper. 

Dalguspin was right. His keen eyes saw through 
it all. Noals really had concocted the scheme, with 
himself at its centre. • But it stood little more than 
frame work, until the Pawn-broker’s malignant fer- 
tility supplied details and gave it flesh and blood. 
Noals at first had simply acquiesced in these de- 
tails temporarily; but upon reflection realized their 
utility. So, it was a well satisfied pair. The pros- 
pect all around seemed improving. Black Isaac was 
cheerful, even happy, over the outlook; and Noals 
so elated, that it would have been surprising, if his 
irrepressible bent towards joking had not discovered 
on the scheme points for its expression. 

It was not so easy to get a favorable opportunity 
for finally sounding Robert. We say finally ; for 
prior to hinting to Dalguspin the scheme of robbery, 
Noals, in cracksman’s guise and with an eye to a 
confederate, had approached Robert. Some time 
elapsed before it could be done. The first intima- 
tion in this direction to Black Isaac, was Robert’s 
announcement, early one Monday morning, of his 
intention to leave the following Thursday — that he 


188 


Thomas Muffin. 


wished to see something of the old world — and that 
a way had just opened to him to secure an ocean 
passage. During the day the Pawn-broker received 
a note from Noals, that he would call at 8 p. m. 
Noals was strictly on time, and a lively conversation 
followed in harmony with the satisfactory state of 
affairs. 

“Have you seen Robert ?” asked the Pawn-broker, 
as Noals and himself became closeted ill the little 
private home office, with its antique centre table hold- 
ing whiskies and waters (hot and cold), and the rest 
of the outfit for grog and toddy. 

“Yes — the cracksman has seen him, and — what’s 
more — got him. Eat my old hat, if he ain’t a good 
one. An ocean ticket and <£100 in gold, half in hand, 
the rest the moment of my exit from the Bank — this 
secures him.” 

“You should have seen me, before going so far. 
That was the distinct agreement made in this 
room.” 

“But I understood you then as intimating, and in 
that street talk last Saturday as expressing, a wil- 
lingness Robert should be got, could he be led at 
once to leave the country. The fact is, Dalguspin, 
I really didn’t know where to stop. It was a good 
opportunity, and opportunities don’t come every 
day, and the fellow seemed so eager and gave evi- 
dence, too, of being such a trump, that the whole 
matter was disclosed and bargain struck, almost be- 
fore I knew it.” 

“Let it be. He’s the only ally I’d consent to have, 


Thomas Ruffin. 


189 


since he goes abroad. I saw your hand this morn- 
ing, when Robert asked leave to quit my service 
Thursday, designing, so he said, to sail for England.” 

“And you accommodated him V 9 

“Of course — But we’re too loud, Jimmie. We 
should whisper these things.” 

“Whist !” Noals suddenly exclaimed, as he looked 
startled towards the door. 

“What V 9 

“I’m certain I heard sounds like muffled foot- 
falls,” Noals replied, dropping his voice. 

They both looked towards the door and listened 
intently. Presently Dalguspin tip-toed to the door 
and listened. Then opened the door suddenly — but 
saw nothing. Resuming his seat, he rang up Robert. 

“What noise was that in the hall just now?” 

“I dont’t know, Sir, unless it was Gowrie” (a 
Scotch collie). “He is in the house.” 

“Put Gowrie out, and observe my wish that we be 
not disturbed. — ’Twas nothing” (to Noals, as the door 
closed on Robert). “But softly, softly, Jimmie. 
We’ve been too lively over business so solemn. A 
sharp ear at the key-Jiole might have gotten clean 
away with us. — Now for details : Does Robert know 
of the part the clerk’s to be made to play V 9 

“He does.” 

“All will say, of course, the cracksman had dupli- 
cate keys, and the surmise will be they were made 
from impressions got either from the Watchman, or 
the clerk. Suspicion must fall upon the latter, in 
the way I suggested.” 


190 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“You mean through the hidden money?” 

“I do.” 

It should be remarked, that, if the Pawn broker’s 
malignant mind towards Thomas Ruffin, had been 
aroused by the latter’s conduct in connection with 
the “doctoring” of Cameron’s note, the sentiment of 
hate, thus formed, became subject to a constant pro- 
cess of stimulation from another cause. In a moral 
sense Black Isaac’s cJerks had been uniformly of the 
slippery sort, more or less; and if he had not led 
them into acts palpably or legally criminal, they 
were not insensible to his suggestions touching pec- 
cadilloes. On the contrary, the conduct of Thomas 
Ruffin was as straight in its course as the arrow from 
the bow of an archer. He could not be turned aside 
a jot towards aught savoring of crookedness, how 
ever Black Isaac might allege precedent or custom. 
At first this character, with amiability and industry 
for attendants, charmed the Pawn -broker. It was 
something new and interesting — a fresh and novel 
flower of agreeable fragrance. But when once 
Thomas had given occasion to Black Isaac to turn 
against him, the latter’s character, contrasting so 
pointedly with his, became a source of perpetual ir- 
ritation. The air of high and honorable breeding 
unconsciously manifest — the transparent honesty 
that the Pawn-broker could not budge — the spiritu- 
elle presence, almost feminine in its delicacy — all 
this was the very opposite to the hard, old, moss- 
grown sinner, and kept forcing on the latter a sense 
of inferiority and of insult — so to speak. Like the 


Thomas Ruffin. 


101 


opposite poles of a magnet, their characters repelled 
each other. Black Isaac’s hate grew and rankled, 
and he now chuckled over the thought, that a day 
of reckoning had come. It is a Nemesis of our own 
conjuring, that we come really to hate those we 
desire to hate — to see blackness in those we wish to 
be black, though they be white- as the driven snow. 

With the advent of the scheme , however, his out- 
ward conduct craftily changed. His bearing be- 
came civil. He restored the half dollar to the wage. 
Friend Peale knew and could swear the young man 
was pressed. That was enough, he thought. And 
he intimated to Thomas there was betterment in 
store. 

“It’s all arranged with Bob,” said Noals in reply 
to the Pawnbroker. “It’s his own special job. He’s 
well up in such tricks, he tells me. In disguise fur- 
nished by the cracksman , at 8 that evening Bob is 
to see old Ruffin in his room at The Home, and 
watch a chance to thrust between the mattresses a 
roll of bills. ’Tis done most easily. Bob can twist 
to his will the daft old fellow.” 

“The rascal! I’ve been a fearing him, that he 
would trick or harm me in some way. But here he 
is proving our right bower. Man proposes, Noals, 
but God disposes.” 

“Most well spoken. Yerily, we seem singled out 
for a series of special providences. — We must be 
ready, Dalguspin, for our parts at the finale. The 
rendezvous is so near the Bank, that I can doff dis- 
guise and be on hand as Jimmie Noals, when the 


192 


Thomas Ruffin. 


watchman rushes forth with outcries. I’ll join him 
and we’ll make for your house. Then for The Old 
Men’s Home. The clerk will be accused of com- 
plicity . He’ 11 deny of course. Search will be made 
— the money roll found — and the clerk arrested. 
The cracksman has warned Bob to be at home on 
duty as soon as possible — twenty minutes, say — after 
the event. See that he goes with us to The Home. 
The scene will chime in with his humor.” 

“We’ll be on hand. — Here, Noals, take these” — 
drawing keys from pocket — “keys to front door 
and Safe. Get duplicates; but, mind, don’t have’m 
made. Might give a clew, you know. Match 
’em and cut and file yourself to a fit. I’ll try them 
for you. Match ’em down at Kirk’s, Jimmie. You’ll 
find there all sorts of keys,” 

“Except a turnkey!” Noals remarked with due 
gravity. 

“He ! he ! he ! And the key of wedlock !” put in 
the Pawn-broker. 

“Ha! ha! ha! And the key to the situation /” 
Noals again fired off. 

“He! he! he! And whiskey /” fired back the 
Pawn-broker, taking the cap. 

“Ah-h-h ! if you haven’t struck a key note, I’ll 
eat the old hat. It’s a reminder. Let me" try that 
key. Fits so nicely.” 

Noals mixes a bumper of grog — sips — smacks 
lips -and, holding the glass aloft, apostrophizes the 
liquor, as he looks at it cunningly : 

“W-h-i-s -k-e-y ! the key of keys! Used, not 


Thomas Ruffin. 


193 


abused, it’s the very power of the keys itself, ad 
mitting troubled souls to a paradise of content !” 

1 ‘Bravo ! bravo ! Try it again,” said Black Isaac, 
as Noals returned to the table the emptied glass. “/ 
don’t drink now, Jimmie — kidneys touched — sworn 
off — once did, though, hard as the chap Jack Ran- 
dolph told about in that last speech of his here.” 

“Poor Jack ! The country has lost the prince of 
speakers.— How about the chap ? I don’t remember.” 

“Got up every morning a whiskey barrel, and went 
to bed at night a barrel of whiskey.” 

“Ha ! ha ! ha ! Yes, yes. — You’re jolly, Dalgus- 
pin, jolly, old fellow. You feel better.” 

“Sh-h-h-h ! Soft ! soft ! Less noise, or we may ^ 
have noise outside. — Yes, I feel better, now it’s all 
arranged, and the prospect clears up. Remember, 
too, Jimmie, there’s another key, the rear-door key. 
You may need it in making exit. As I told you 
Saturday, I gave mine to the clerk some time ago ; 
but I’ll have another to-day.” 

k 4 Y ery well. Still, let Bob get the key. The cracks- 
man has given Bob this other special job, to test 
his skill and fidelity. Disguised and representing 
a Pen and Ink Pedlar, Bob is to see young Ruffin 
Wednesday eve at the Bank, to get an impression of 
this key. He may fail. So hold yours in reserve. 
But the cracksman knows somewhat of Bob’s pre- 
paration and goes it strong on Bobby Boy, too; for 
if he doesn’t do a job to tickle you , my old hat I’ll 
chew w-w — bands, lining, and all.” 


13 


194 Thomas Ruffin. 

The Pawn-broker saluted Noals’ humor, and then 
remarked : 

“By the way, Noals, I’ve never seen you in your 
disguises. Bring ’em over. You can try on here 
behind bolted doors. I’d like to note your bearing 
and see how you would do.” 

“ All right. I’ll be back anon. — Courage up, Dal- 
guspin. No danger, no danger; for Bob goes abroad, 
and we shall hang well together.” 

“If we don’t, by George ! we hang separately.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! Now, you stole that.” 

“All the same — it comes in pat.” 

“Comes from Pat., too — Pat Henry. Ha ! ha ! ha !” 

Upon Noals’ departure Black Isaac sat a space in 
thought. Then rang up Robert. 

“You’re to leave soon, Robert.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“You once raised your arm to protect me, and 
you’ve been faithful in my house. I’m not unmind- 
ful, Robert, and wish to give you a parting counsel.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

“You must stop roving, Robert. You will before 
long, and settle down to business of some sort; and 
then, whatever it be, Robert, stick to it. My coun- 
sel lies in that word Stick. It doesn’t matter so 
much what the business is. The point is to stick. 
Lots in business, but few stickers. They change to 
this or to that, or live loosened from the biz. — don’t 
stick to it. And I believe in sticking, not only to 
things and ideas, but to men, too. Yes, Robert, 
stick to men, too — stick both to your friends and to 
your enemies. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


195 


And, again, Robert — learn how to use men. I be- 
gan with nothing and have made my thousands — 
and honestly, too, Robert — by sticking , and know- 
ing how to use those around me and getting them to 
co-operate. Yes, ‘co-operate’ is the word. I have a 
clerk now who started out well enough, but will not 
work with me, I find. He’s a fellow I can’t use. 
I’ve tried him and he won’t lift the end of his little 
finger. Why, here lately one word from him would 
have made me a cool thousand, but he wouldn’t co- 
operate, you see; and I’ve turned the fellow down, 
and evil will get him yet. My clerks are my slaves, 
Robert. Every one in his turn. I had to slave it 
once. I’m on top now, and the grass shan’t grow 
under my clerks’ feet. I’ve no use for any about 
me who ain’t ready to co-operate, and whom I can’t 
get to help me carry out my schemes. Yes, Robert, 
when you set up in business be a sticker and know 
how to use 'em, and you’ll win. 

“Ah ! there’s Noals” — door bell has rung. “Jim- 
mie’s brisk. Receive him, Robert.” 

A moment later Robert returned and presented a 
card. As the Banker read it dismay sat upon his 
countenance. 

“Clear away these things, Robert, and admit the 
gentleman.” 

“Edward Stone !” exclaimed Black Isaac, as Robert 
disappeared — “connected with the Boston Bank we 
deal with, and Bank Inspector for this district ! At 
this time, too ! Fiends of the Pit ! What luck !” 

Presently Mr. Stone entered, a nervous, choleric 


196 


Thomas Ruffin. 


looking man, with deep red hair and beard and sandy 
eyebrows — hard of hearing — worked fingers and 
snapped eyelids, when talking — rapped out short 
sentences — and, with nose up in the air, gave abun- 
dant indication of an arrogant and highly irritable 
character. 

“I am, indeed, happy to meet you, Mr. Stone,” 
said Black Isaac, coming forward smirking and bow- 
ing, and with the address he could command on such 
occasions, at the same time extending his hand, 
which the visitor received stiffly on his finger tips. 
‘‘Allow me your hat and cane, Mr. Stone” — offering 
to take them. 

“No, thanks,” was the short reply. 

“Have a chair, Mr. Stone.” 

“No, thanks. Stay but a moment,” again came 
the curt snappy answer. 

Dalguspin was rather chilled by the Inspector’s 
manner, but mindful of his function, again unctious- 
ly addressed him : 

“We know each other, Mr. Stone, 'per liter am ” — 
Black Isaac had committed to memory one or two 
classical phrases for use on special occasions — “but 
I’ve never before had the pleasure of grasping your 
hand, Sir” — Stone bending forward in the effort to 
hear. 

“Glad to see you” — Stone’s supercilious manner 
administering to the sentiment a black eye. “By 
the bye, per literas is better Latin than per liter am” 
— a scholarly remark, though grossly rude. 

The Pawn-broker colored up, as much as his 


Thomas Ruffin. 


197 


swarthy countenance allowed, and the spirit of cor- 
diality took on a small freeze, but he pocketed the 
incivility in his desire to please the Bank Inspector; 
and, aware of the sensitiveness of deaf persons, 
sought so to pitch his voice as to be heard, and yet 
not remind his visitor of his infirmity. 

“I believe it’s your first visit to our city, Mr. 
Stone. ” 

“Yes. Impressions charming. The first man just 
now to meet me, was a cabby, who tried to cheat me, 
and got me in a devil of a heat — see !” 

“I am sorry, indeed, Mr. Stone. Such things will 
happen anywhere sometimes. I hope your stay will 
be long enough to give me the pleasure of showing 
you our bright side. If not the k Hub’ itself, we 
claim to be one of the shapely spokes” — saluting his 
supposed humor with a captivating smile. 

Stone, however, didn’t see the humorous point, or, 
if he did, failed to recognize it, and all the while 
was bending forward and frowning and distorting 
his face in painful efforts to hear — co-operating, as 
it were, with Dalguspin, who kept on raising his 
voice, to get the comfortable gauge of his visitor. 

“Yes,” he gruffly rejoined. “Hail from the ‘Hub’ 
at large. More immediately from a hubbub in our 
Bank, which I hope you’ll be able to quell.” 

“I hope so, indeed, Mr. Stone. Anything I can 
do for you, will be done, you know, most cheerfully, 
Mr. Stone.” 

“Stay’s brief. On business only. Letters inti- 
mate your serious involvement in Weston’s failure. 


198 


Thomas Ruffin. 


We’ve a balance with yon and feel concerned.” 

“It’s a profound mistake, Mr. Stone. Our losses 
are small, Sir, and the Bank’s affairs straight as a 
shingle. Who gave the information, Mr. Stone?” 

“Ah-h ! little bird has been singing.” 

“Then, ’twas a Mocking bird, Mr. Stone, whose 
notes are all counterfeit,” said Black Isaac in loud 
and earnest words, for the moment forgetting the 
sycophant in his defense of the Bank, which, as 
touching this particular charge, was entirely just. 
“ Our notes are sound , Sir, perfectly sound, whether 
uttered by me, or by the Bank.” 

“Yes,” Stone answered back in a huff, “your 
notes are sound, Sir, loud sound, disagreeable sound, 
Sir. You’re bullying, Sir !” 

Dalguspin was thunderstruck and thoroughly net- 
tled, yet restrained himself, and had the prudence 
to reply in obsequious and lowered tones : 

“ Bullying , Mr. Stone! My dear Sir, what can 
you mean? You’re mistaken, I assure you. I’m 
not bullying, Mr. Stone, but simply defending the 
Bank against an injurious impression, and naturally 
spoke with some warmth. That was all, Mr. Stone.” 

“Wha-a-t ?” asked Stone, with hand behind ear 
and bending towards Dalguspin. 

“I was saying,” replied the latter in a high key, 
“you’re mis-tak-en . That ” 

“My ears are not the best, Sir,” broke in Mr. Stone 
with great irritation. “Yet I’m not as deaf as a 
post, Sir. It’s annoying, Sir, to have thrust on me 
so vigorously a sense of my infirmity.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


199 


“Damn tlie old Red Stone!” rapped out Black 
Isaac, but sotto voce. “Capital specimen of brim- 
stone ! And I’d be glad to see him Inspector of the 
brimstone district !” 

“Sorry I can’t hear your sentiments,” said Stone, 
who had been keeping hand behind ear, in the effort 
to hear. “Have no doubt they’re o. k. — Did you 
ask whether I’m Inspector still? Think I caught 
that word. Yes, I’m still Inspector. Shall inspect 
your books to-morrow. Am doing my work thorouh- 
ly. It’s a day of wildcat speculation and official 
dishonesty, Sir. Officials , Sir, are proving very effi- 
cient robbers. Be ready for me at 10, Sir. Good day, 
Sir.” 

As his visitor turned his back for the door, Black 
Isaac railed upon him, sotto voce : 

“A derned old seven-sided fool !” 

But his chafed feelings, which all along he had 
been endeavoring to keep under control, when al- 
lowed an exit, shot forth with a little over energy, 
and unhappily the invective reached his visitor’s 
ears. Stone turned — bent on Dalguspin a stormy 
look — then spoke, measuring his words and giving 
every syllable its full weight : 

“My seventh side, Sir, I presume, is my deaf side. 
You’ll find, Sir, to-morrow, when I inspect your 
books” — grimly smiling and shaking the finger of 
menace — “that I have no blind side.” 

“Whe-e-e-e-w ! Men and Brethren ! Is the fellow 
crazy !” exclaimed Black Isaac, as the Inspector 
marched out, “Never in all my born days, have I 


200 


Thomas Ruffin. 


seen so cross-grained an old wretch, such a compound 
double extract of spleen ! He should be strung up by 
the thumbs and beaten on his depraved back, until 
the blood runs down to his heels. — And I believe, 
too, his deafness was all pretense and that the old 
Red Head heard every word I uttered ! And wliat 
could he mean by emphasizing “officials are proving 
very efficient robbers ?” He pauses and reflects. — 
“A devil of a fix ! That Bank deficit I’ve managed 
to keep covered up. But the old Red Head will go 
through our books with lynx eyes.” Anothe pause. 
— “Our scheme comes off Thursday night; and if I 
should go to the old Cuss and could placate him and 
get him to postpone the examination for a day or 
two. But no, it’s no use. I’ve stirred his gall.” 
Another pause. — “Ah ! well ! I’ll confer with Noals. 
He* s a schemer. And what can be keeping Noals, 
I wonder ? He lives hard by and should’ ave return- 
ed ere this. Could anything have happened % What, 
if the disguises have been lost or stolen ? Then the 
scheme must miscarry.” 

And altogether, with the serious complication from 
Stone’s sudden advent on the scene, the Pawn-broker 
was so anxious to see Noals and grew so fidgety at 
his prolonged absence, that finally he rang up Robert 
and ordered him to despatch one of the servants to 
Noals’ residence, to learn whether or not he was at 
home. Presently, an answer came that Noals had 
left the house at half-past 7, and had not returned. 
The Pawn-broker was meditating upon the matter, 
and had concluded the “things” were kept down 


Thomas Ruffin. 


20 1 


town at the office, somewhat further off, when the 
door-bell rang, much to his relief. 

“Ah ! there’s the fellow at last,” he exclaimed. 

It was a thorough disappointment, therefore, when 
Robert entered, and announced that a stranger had 
called. 

“Where’s his card 3” 

“Has none, Sir.” 

“What’s his name V ’ 

“Jones.” ' 

“What’s his business 3” 

“Wouldn’t say — only that it was important.” 

“Didn’t you tell him I had a special engagement, 
and every moment in expectation of the visitor 3” 

“Yes, Sir. But the man said he could not wait, 
that his errand was of the most serious nature, and 
he would not keep you five minutes.” 

“Let me see him,” said Black Isaac, with a shrug 
of the shoulders. 

Jones came in, a wretched looking old man, with 
shoes and trousers and coat of vagabond type — long, 
dirty beard — grey, matted hair — body half bent — in 
one hand a supporting stick, in the other a battered 
hat — voice thin and squeaking. Evidently, a dilap- 
idated specimen — a regulation tramp. 

“My name’s William Jones, Sir, your servant, 
Sir,” he said, bowing very low and very humbly. 

Black Isaac did not deign an answer, but drew 
back from the ragamuffin (he had dealings with such 
at the Pawn-Shop, but knew them not at his resi- 
dence), and rang up Robert, to whom he spoke aside : 


202 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“ Why did you admit the vagabond? I’m aston- 
ished at you, Sir !” 

“I did refuse him, but he begged so earnestly, and 
declared most solemnly he bore a communication of 
great interest to yourself.” 

As Robert turned to retire, Black Isaac recalled 
him, and whispered a caution to let the door remain 
ajar and stand himself just outside, as tramps some- 
times meant robbery, deeming it the part of pru- 
dence and no reflection upon valor, to match two 
against one. 

“What d’you want ?” asked Black Isaac with look 
and tone of supreme disgust. 

“I lodge, Sir, with vagabonds ” 

“Not the least doubt at all about that,” broke in 
the Pawn-broker. You look very much like one 
yourself.” 

“I may look like one, Sir” — very humbly spoken 
— “but I ain’t one. I was not always as I am now. 
Once ” 

‘"What do you want ? I say,” the Pawn-broker 
impatiently and disdainfully interrupted. 

“If you please, Sir, I want to tell my story. You 
have an interest in it. — Once, I was going to say, I 
had money and influence and position. But I took 
to drink and went down — lower, lower, lower; and 
at last struck bed rock.” 

“And your whistle being dry, you’ve come here 
for money to wet it,” the Pawn-broker contemptu- 
ously suggested. 

“No, no, no, Sir. I don’t do that now. I can’t do 


Thomas Ruffin. 


203 


that now. — I got to bed-rock, Sir, as I was a sayin’. 
My wife and child died in want and wretchedness. 
My relations disowned me, and I was left alone in 
this miserable world, begging my bread by day, and 
lodging — - — ” 

“Here ! here !” broke in the Pawn-broker sternly. 
“I warn you. Enough of this rigmarole. For the 
last time — tell me why you are here f” 

“To pay you a debt, Sir.” 

“To pay me a debt !” cried Black Isaac, with that 
low little laugh of his, amused at the idea in spite 
of himself. 

“Yes — p° or old Billy Jones is come to pay a debt 
to the Banker, by showing up a conspiracy .” 

Black Isaac looked at old Jones in a half doubt- 
ing, half believing sort of way, as the latter con- 
tinued : 

“When I was a goin’ down, down, Sir, there was 
one friend that stuck. He was your Father, Sir. 
He gave me money and counsel and tried to raise me 
up % ’Twas no use. Yet I remember it all, and am 
here to pay his son a debt of gratitude.” 

The old man paused from weakness, and Black 
Isaac began to look interested. He saw, too, no 
danger was to be apprehended, and thinking, withal, 
there possibly might be disclosures which a third 
person should not hear, stepped to the door and 
whispered Robert to leave. 

“I lodge, Sir, as I was a sayin’, with tramps and 
thieves. They’re mostly foreigners. I’ve picked up 
some of their lingo; and last night, when they thought 


204 


Thomas Ruffin. 


me asleep, or mistook me for a pile of rags in the 
corner, I over heard 'em planning to rob a Bank " — 
the Pawn-broker now all attention. “That there 
door there behind you, Sir, is little ajar. Please, 
Sir, shet it, as I want no one else to hear this.” 

As Dalguspin turned ^towards the door, with his 
back to Jones, the latter suddenly straightened his 
form, drew and leveled a pistol, and thundered out : 

“Hands up ! ! !” 

Black Isaac turned horror-stricken, to find himself 
confronted by a robber. In his terror his skin be- 
came goose-skin. In other words, the integument 
bristled; or, to speak with complete regard for sci- 
entific accuracy, the microscopic muscular fibres 
stood on ends. His knees trembled. His voice for- 
sook him. He felt he was unable utterly to shout 
for help. He could only gasp : 

“Spare me ! Here’s my purse !” 

“Ha ! ha ! ha ! I’ll eat my old hat, Dalguspin, if — ” 

“Heavens and earth !” broke in the Pawn-broker 
with lifted hands, immensely amazed and immensely 
relieved. “Can that be you Jimmie ?” 

“No-o-o ! It’s the cracksman .” 

“Good Lord, let me get my breath ! — ’Twas risky, 
my friend. Suppose I’d been armed?” 

“You wer’n’t, though.” 

“But, devils and damnation! did you confer in 
this guise with Robert, and then allowed him to 
admit you just now ?” 

“Don’t think me a greeny. I’ve other outfits, my 
Boy. Lock the doors, and let me off with this rig.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


205 


Noals kicked off outer old shoes, threw off outer 
garments, and was seen well dressed. 

“You shed well, Jimmie.” 

“Ah ! wait till I shed these fixings ’bout my head. 
You’ll see something red.” 

The Pawn-broker looked with wondering eyes at 
the transformation going on before him, and as 
the “fixings” (wig, &c.) were removed and Noals 
was seen with very red hair and beard and in at- 
titude of arrogance, he sang out : 

“Goodness gracious ! Edward Stone !” 

“Yes” — mimicking the Inspector — “it’s Stone, Sir 
— damned old Red Stone, Sir — capital specimen of 
brimstone.” 

“He ! he ! he ! Good ! good ! good !” 

“What did you say, Sir ?” — mimicking, with hand 
behind ear. “I’ve a seventh side, Sir, a deaf side.” 

“He! he! he! capital! capital!” 

“Well, Dalguspin,” said Noals, who had now re- 
moved the last wig, &c., “you wished to note my 
bearing in disguise. How do you think I fill my 
part, old Boy ?” 

“You make a perfect villain, Noals, you’re a born 
Rob Roy. Villiany sits on thee, as though your 
trade and only joy.” 

“Ha! ha! Well, in your part behalf as great, 
and we’re all right, or my old hat I’ll masticate .” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE LETTER. 

A stranger to the dissipations and even ordinary 
recreations of young men, Thomas Ruffin sought his • 
bed, when work and attentions to his Father were 
over. An enforced fast kept him thin; but he was 
sound of body, rose regularly before the sun, and 
heartily enjoyed the early day. If often he felt 
worn out and discouraged towards night, he would 
awake with a measure of joy. The fresh, inspiring 
morning was a daily resurrection. 

The morning following the interview with Sister 
Jessica (it is necessary to carry the reader back some- 
what), he rose earlier than usual. He was to receive 
that morning a notable letter. Would it be from 
Amy, or from the Sister ? Would it be sent to The 
Home, or to the Bank f And what would be its 
tenor ? These thoughts had filled his mind during 
the night and kept sleep from his eyelids. It was 
Friday. Could there be anything sinister in that ? 
He believed not. He remembered that Friday, many 
times, had been to him a white day. He looked out, 
to see if an omen he could gather from the weather. 

It was fair. A sharp wind whistled from the north, 


Thomas Ruffin. 


207 


whirling the dnst on the earth beneath, and in the 
heavens above driving athwart a cold clear bine sky, 
the skirling scud of yesterday’s far away storm- 
cloud. 

After an early breakfast with his Father — it was 
always earlier on Thomas’ account these Friday 
mornings, and Sabina, as usual had provided for him 
an extra portion — he hastened to the Bank. At half 
past 8, William, the Watchman, brought the mail. 
The letter had come. There it was, he felt sure, as 
he saw the superscription. He turned it over and 
examined it carefully before opening it. There was 
no envelope. The sheet was folded on itself simply, 
making its own exterior, as customary in those days, 
and addressed in a small fair hand, even as print. It 
was not Amy’s hand, as he remembered it. He 
broke the wafer and read with a heart beating high : 

To Mr. Thomas Ruffin : 

Sir : — In supplementing our short interview of 
yesterday evening with certain explanatory particu- 
lars, let me say at the outset, that I have not men- 
tioned the discovery to Amy Sanford, nor shall I. 
It would do no good, and possibly might do harm. 

An ardent object with Amy has been to do what 
she could to soothe your Father’s lot. Her own 
Father died heart-broken a few months after removal 
to New Orleans, victim to the ruin which the failure 
had brought upon himself and others. His kins- 
man’s stroke had affected him even more than his 
own, and Amy has looked upon it as providential 


208 


Thomas Ruffin. 


that your Father is within her reach. Though in 
compassing his affliction Mr. Sanford had been an 
innocent agent, yet there stood the agony he had 
caused ever before her. It haunted her like a spectre; 
and, God helping her, she would make the sufferer 
what returns she could. If only she could visit him 
at least, and place her hand softly upon him, and 
speak gently to him ! 

But the difficulties seemed insuperable. It was 
almost certain, she thought, that John Ruffin was 
enraged against her Father and his house, as the 
criminal author of his ruin. You, yourself, too, she 
had grounds for believing, was embittered and es- 
tranged. 

Under these circumstances I readily consented to 
gratify her most passionate desire and visited your 
Father as her representative; and when, happily, as 
a result of these visits, I was soon able to correct the 
impressions touching your Father’s sentiments and 
your own towards her, yet she was aware of your 
Father’s antipathy to meeting old friends and of 
what might be the ill effects of such interviews; and 
when, further, from my reports, she felt that visits 
in her own person might not be unwelcome, still 
there were personal considerations that prevailed 
with her to maintain the incognito. 

For Amy Sanford’s circumstances having radically 
changed, she has felt she must change with them. 
She has been left penniless. It is necessary, she 
feels, that the past should all be forgotten, and she 
should endeavor to fit herself to meet new and 


Thomas Ruffin . 


209 


exacting conditions; and the course of life she has 
resolved upon, she could pursue, she thinks, with 
more singleness of aim and better prospect of suc- 
cess, by living, temporarily at least, in retirement. 

Let your mind be wholly at rest touching her wel- 
fare. She has made devoted friends, among whom 
she lives, and who are aiding her, lovingly and effec- 
tually, to accomplish the object before her. 

The occurrences of yesterday make these state- 
ments, I think, obligatory. I have only to add, that 
you will be trusted to respect the seclusion Amy San- 
ford has thought it meet to throw around herself, 
and which by an accident has been revealed. The 
pledge given me is to be kept inviolate. There are to 
be no disclosures, no inquiries or attempts at search- 
ing out. Matters are to go on just as though there 
had been no discovery. Otherwise, Amy must know 
what has happened, with the effect of nullifying her 
endeavors respecting your Father, and a tendency 
to nullify them touching herself, and a disposition, 
I do not doubt, to withdraw further from observation. 

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ abide with you. 

Sister Jessica. 

As Thomas read a brood of confusing apprehen- 
sions sprang up. What could the Sister mean by say- 
ing Amy’s past was all to be forgotten ? he asked him- 
self. And what could be the character of this course 
in life that made it at all necessary or expedient to 
remain apart from those whom it would be supposed 
naturally she would live nearest to \ And who were 
these devoted friends she had made, and who were 
aiding her so lovingly and effectually ? All this was 


210 


Thomas Ruffin . 


bewildering. He could not understand the letter. 
Only he had a sense of being stricken. Again and 
again did he read it, before its meaning began to 
clear up; and, as it did, a hope perished. He had 
had a firm persuasion that Amy and himself woulcl 
meet again, and the hope of what might be one day, 
had become rooted. He had not stopped to weigh 
the difficulties. He had never considered how the 
changes that had occurred, should bear upon such a 
hope. It was an enchanting vision kept hidden far 
down in the secret chambers of his heart, yet shed- 
ding, unconsciously, a certain light and an influence 
through all his life ; and at hallowed moments he 
would lift the veil, as it were, and gaze directly 
upon it. The letter was fatal. The vision had fled. 
The dream was over. Its impossibility and folly 
broke upon him, as he dwelt on the words which 
burned into him. 

He could see well why, at the first, Amy should 
have Sister Jessica minister to his Father in her 
stead. But when, through the Sister, she came to 
know that his Father understood the circumstances 
of the failure, that he was not angered, that his own 
affections were unchanged, and that personal visits 
might be made, why did she remain still in retire- 
ment, if not to avoid the encouragement of hopes 
which, under altered conditions, could not be real- 
ized ? Amy must know all about him. Was not the 
letter sent to 222 Gr. Street, with the sign of the 
golden balls % Sister Jessica knew what that meant, 
and Dalguspin’s reputation, no doubt; and Amy, 
through her, must know just how he was situated. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


211 


Was lie not reduced to the uttermost, with a stricken 
Father looking up to him, a ward of charity, and re- 
quiring more than he could possibly do? God for- 
give him for permitting one personal thought beyond 
his Father’s care. It was a folly, this hope he had 
allowed to entwine about his life. How could he 
think of such things ! Amy was right. She herself, 
penniless, was struggling to adjust herself to new con- 
ditions. It was better she should pursue her course 
secluded and undisturbed, and establish herself in 
life without hindrance. He was glad she had made 
loving friends. She would make them anywhere. 
He could rejoice at this, though it strangled a hope 
and a light in his heart went out. For in his senti- 
ments towards Amy there was, he felt, no change. 
He still loved her and would love her on. She was 
his dear Cousin still. The Moss was still his flower. 
The locket was and would be as precious as ever. 
And Amy’s heart was towards them, he was sure. 
The past in this sense had not been forgotten — could 
not possibly be forgotten. The care she had taken 
to send this Sister marked her depth of love. But 
the impossible must not be hoped for. It may have 
cost Amy herself something to think so. Yet she 
felt bound to think it, and the Sister’s letter, as re- 
flecting her mind and purposes, was a plain declara- 
tion. 

All that day and the next and the next, and on and 
on, such thought currents went surging and crossing 
and running counter in Thomas’ mind. That Friday 
evening Friend Peale dropped in. He realized im- 
mediately that something had happened. But 


212 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Thomas could not speak; and when he intimated as 
much, on the big-hearted Quaker’s holding out an 
opening, the latter in a general way became unusu- 
ally sympathetic and encouraging. Thomas must 
bear the burden alone. He was estopped from friend- 
ly counsel and comfort. He had bound himself to 
speak of the discovery to none. Later that evening, 
when he had called to say good night, he appeared 
to his Father excited, and was full of talk about 
Sister Jessica — so much so that the old gentleman 
was fain to remark upon it. How could it be other- 
wise? She was the symbol of Amy’s affection. The 
last bouquet he carried to his own room. He would 
fondle the flowers — take them apart and put them 
together again — gaze upon them — press them to his 
lips. They came from Amy herself. Her own hands 
had touched them. Her slender fingers had arranged 
them. As for the Mosses, he preserved them all; 
and the Monday morning following his interview 
with the Sister, his Father happened to find one of 
the faded blooms upon his pillow. 

Thomas, poor fellow, was all wrought up, and his 
mind in a confused, vacillating, contradictory state. 
In one sense, he loved Amy still, just as before, but, 
he considered, as his Cousin. In another sense, by 
the stress of circumstances she was removed outside 
the orbit of his destiny, and he had given up a hope. 
The effect was a changing one, almost constantly. 
At times he felt stricken through and through — 
borne down by the thought, that Amy should be so 
near, and yet so far away. All within was so lonely 
and dark and wretched. Then, again, his spirits would 


Tliom.as Ruffin. 


213 


revive. He would laud the act. His Father’s condi- 
tion, Amy’s, his own, all demanded it. ’Twas duti- 
fully done, if painfully, he would say. And he would 
draw himself up at the thought of the self-sacrifice 
and seem an inch taller, and feel he would have 
been glad for his friends to see how morally fine he 
appeared. But Thomas was young, and this Power 
dealing with him was old — a god the ancients named 
it, the strength of whose embraces is masked by their 
soft and bewitching character; and if by one bound 
the young man had really freed himself, he had per- 
formed a feat that many a swain has supposed he 
has done, but whose accomplishment lay wholly in 
the supposal. 

John Puffin had hoped Sister Jessica would call 
again the Saturday subsequent to the meeting with 
Thomas, as he wished to let her know at the earliest 
hour the impression she had made upon his son. 
Towards the close of that evening there was a rap on 
his door. She has come, he said. But when the door 
opened, it was Miss Kitty who presented herself, with 
three little children accompanying her. John Ruffin 
had expressed to the Housekeeper a wish to see some 
children — a sign probably of a general improvement 
in his condition; and she had brought Annie and 
Mamie and Harold, children of one of the members 
of the Board, all clean and sweet and dressed up 
nicely, and full of artless free life. She knew they 
would give the old gentleman no trouble — just the 
contrary; for Miss Kitty was a manager, and to one 
who could manage at all, she would say, children 


214 


Thomas Ruffin, 


gave no trouble, till they become (to use her language) 
yearlings and young men. They were taken up, to 
be introduced and to shake hands with John Ruffin, 
and then allowed, by his express wish, to be at per- 
fect liberty to do just as they pleased. John Ruffin 
sat and watched them with evident enjoyment. They 
were all curiosity itself and tested everything in the 
liveliest way, yet under Miss Kitty’ s eye. They tried 
the springs of the window- shades, the door knobs, 
the shucks and the splits, and the work on the chairs 
— everything, even to the cocks in the bath-room. 
On returning thence to the main apartment, little 
Mamie, with the tooth-brushes she had just seen in 
her mind, approached John Ruffin in quite a thought- 
ful way, when the latter, supposing the child had 
something special to say, stooped and gave his private 
ear, to which Mamie made the following serious 
communication : 

“Mr. Ruffin,” she said, “my Mama had two nail- 
brushes — but she lost them !” 

Whereat the old gentleman laughed heartily. Then 
Miss Kitty, she began to laugh heartily, too. Then 
Annie and Harold joined in. Then, Mamie. And 
here they all were shaking up in laughter, with tears 
almost in their eyes — and no one knowing the cause 
but John Ruffin. — When one child spoke about any- 
thing, the other two spoke up also, and all talked 
together in the most rapid and excited manner. 
Presently Miss Kitty took them out, seeing John 
Ruffin was satisfied and knowing the supper hour 
was drawing near. 


CHAPTER XY. 


And how, Audrey? Am I the man yet ? 

Doth my simple feature content you ? 

— As You Like It. 

The Saturday afternoon succeeding that whose 
incidents are recorded in the last chapter, John 
Ruffin thought a visit from Sister Jessica very prob- 
able and was eagerly anticipating it. One or two 
door-knocks has proven disappointing — it was Sabi- 
na or some other servant on matter immaterial and, 
it being late, the old gentleman had abandoned 
hope of a visit and was at work on a chair for 
Sandy Johnson, when another tap came. With a 
frown at what he supposed was a servant’s interrup- 
tion and in a begrudging tone (for the Shoemaker 
was to call for the chair that evening) he gave the 
invitation, and Sister Jessica entered. 

“Ho! ho! ho!” he cried, with a changed and 
happy manner, and brushing aside his work, “it’s 
you , my little angel. Glad, glad to see you, Miss 
Jessie. And so you’ve brought me flowers again” — 
the Sister had given him the posy. “And I’m glad 
there are Moss Roses here again; for Tammie now 
likes ’em so.” 

“Does he ?” 

“Yes. It’s strange yon should bring the very 


210 


Thomas Ruffin. 


flowers lie lias taken such a fancy to. I can’t under- 
stand it, but Tammie has lately changed so about 
flowers.” 

u Has he, though ?” 

“Yes, yes, he was always fond of flowers, and 
Pinks were his favorite — old fashioned, sweet Pinks 
— he had his own little Pink bed at Cloud Cap — ” 
and John Ruffin bent his head in tears. 

“Don’t cry, Mr. Ruffin,” said the Sister, in her 
sympathetic tones. “I must cease bringing flowers, 
if in any way they cause you grief.” 

“No, no, Sister Jessie. Don’t mind me. I can’t 
speak of dear old Cloud Cap without being a baby. 
Yes, yes, all along it has been Pinks ! Pinks ! with 
Tammie, but here lately it’s nothing but Moss Roses. 
He has a Moss almost every day in his button-hole. 
And — would you believe it, Miss Jessie? — last Mon- 
day morning I found an old faded Moss on his pil- 
low. I was so sorry I threw it away; for when I 
told Tammie that night, he seemed really distressed, 
and said it came from a friend.” 

“Indeed ! I wonder from whom ?” 

“I should like to know myself. I can’t under- 
stand it, why Tammie has changed so about flowers. 
I’ve asked him over and over, but he makes the same 
answer, that a young friend of his likes Mosses, and 
so he has come to like Mosses, too.” 

“And does that seem to you altogether unreason- 
able, Mr. Ruffin !” 

“No-o. But then, you see, I want to know his 
friend’s name, and Tammie won’t tell me.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


217 


“How undutiful !” 

“Not undutiful, Miss Jessie. Tammie can’t be 
nndutiful. Just a little self-willed, you know. He 
has always opened his heart to me so fully about 
everything, that his holding, back the name makes 
me suspicious and fearful.” 

“Shame ! he should distress you.” 

“He doesn’t mean to, dear child. Last Thursday 
night I got almost mad with him, and told him, if 
he wasn’t so old, I’d have half a mind to ‘give him 
jessie’ for refusing me so.” 

The unconscious word-play provoked a little laugh 
from the Sister, whereat John Ruffin remarked : 

•‘Why do you laugh, Miss Jessie? You do just 
as Tammie did.” 

“How did he do ?” 

“Why, when I spoke to him about ‘giving him 
jessie,’ he broke into a laugh, too. And what d’you 
think he said ?” 

“I really can’t imagine, Sir.” 

“Why, he said he was ready for punishment any 
moment.” 

Sister Jessica was constrained to repeat her laugh, 
and John Ruffin again remarked upon it : 

“And here you’re laughing, too, when it’s so 
serious with me. I can’t understand it — I can’t un- 
derstand it.” And he started up with cane in hand, 
and made a shuffiing turn, in more real mental worry 
than the good Sister was aware of. 

“It’s quite amusing,” she remarked. 

“Amusing, Sister Jessica l” — the use of “Jessica” 


218 


Thomas Ruffian. 


indicating a little stiffness or ripple of indignation. 
“How can yon say so ? It’s serious with me, serious. 

I hope Tammie isn’t making bad acquaintances — ” 
he added with a sigh. 

“I hope so, sincerely.” 

“I hope this friend won’t lead him off. He’s all 
I’ve got now.” 

“You needn’t be at all uneasy,” spoke the Sister 
encouragingly; for she now realized that John Ruffin 
was in dead earnest touching his fears. 

“But there are so many fast young men in the city 
— so many temptations.” 

“I do not think your son, from what you tell me 
of him, at all likely to be led astray, Mr. Ruffin.” 

“I know he’s good, almost an angel. But young 
men are young men, Miss Jessie, flesh and blood, and 
apt to be as those they run with. You see Tammie 
has caught already this young man’s fancy for Moss- 
es, and if he has bad ways, I fear Tammie may get 
there.” 

“Mr. Ruffin, you need have no fears, I think.” 

“I wish very much I knew who this young man is. 
— Miss Jessie,” he continued, after a moment’s pause 
in reflection, “Tammie tells me he has met you, and 
he has been talking a great deal about you, and I 
want to let you know, likes you so much. He may’ve 
* spoken to you about this friend. Have you any 
idea, Miss Jessie, who he is?” 

Sister Jessica now had occasion for a pause her- 
self, and was framing a reply, when Sabina broke in 
and made a diversion in her favor. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


219 


“O Mr. Ruffin ! Mr. Ruffin !” exclaimed the ilegro 
woman with her usual enthusiasm, at the same time 
exhibiting a torn and uprooted rose bush, “dat nasty 
stinkin’ little good-fur-nuthin’ dorg gone and scratch- 
ed up Mr. Thomas’ Moss Rose.” 

“Well, Sabina, make a hole and put it out again.” 

“An’ dey kin make a hole fur dat dare little dorg, 
too. Mister Thomas’ll kill him. He’ll be all-fired 
mad” — closing her period with a vigorous guffaw. 
Observing now Sister Jessica — the Sister was sitting 
apart and it was towards evening, and she had escap- 
ed Sabina’s eye — the negro woman hastily retired, 
having the audacity, as she passed out, to give Sister 
Jessica a most irreverent wink. 

“Miss Jessie,” continued John Ruffin, as Sabina 
closed the door after her, “I can’t get over Tammie’s 
refusing to tell me his friend’s name. He has never 
done such a thing before, and I can’t help feeling 
anxious.” 

“You need not be, Sir, I repeat, from what you’ve 
told me about your son. Don’t worry, Mr. Ruffin.” 

“Yes, yes” — suddenly assuming confidence — “I’m 
an old goose for feeling so, I know. Tammie’s safe. 
Ain’t he, Miss Jessie? You don’t suppose this 
young man will lead him off?” 

“I hope not, Sir.” 

“You hope not !” — with disappointed air. “Can’t 
you be a little more positive ?” 

“I think not.” 

“You think not ! Is that all-1, Sister Jessica ?” 


220 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“I am sure , then, Mr. Ruffin, your son’s friend 
will not lead him off.” 

“Thank you, Miss Jessie,” he responded, speak- 
ing up. 

“I am sure this friend will not do him the least 
harm.” 

“O thank you, thank you, Miss Jessie,” he again 
responded, greatly pleased. 

“I feel certain this friend’s influence, as far as it 
may extend, will be around him only for all that’s 
pure and good — that she ” 

“Wha-a-a-t ! wha-a-a-t!” John Ruffin interrupted, 
with amazement and alarm. “ She-e-e ! Is it a she-e-e , 
Miss Jessie ? My Gfod !” 

Sister Jessica saw she had touched with a needle 
the morbid sensibilities of this old gentleman re- 
specting his son, and paused to consider how she 
would smooth over her slip of the tongue. 

“I say, Miss Jessie, is it a she-e-e ?” he vehemently 
asked again, his alarm gathering force at the Sister’s 
delay to answer. 

“Mr. Ruffin, there’s no reason in the round world 
for any alarm. Suppose it might be a she \ I reckon 
the she’s are as good as the he’s.” 

“Oh-h-h ! Miss Jessie,” he cried out, and speaking 
in sentence's interrupted by tears and sobs, “but this 
must be a bad one. It’s some bad one has turned 
my Boy’s head. That’s the reason — he’s so shy 
about it — and won’t tell her name. Here’s my poor 
Boy— been sleeping night after night— with an old 
faded Moss — from one of these she-devils — and 


Thomas Muffin. 


221 


they’ll draw him — into their dives — and the first 
thing you know — he’ll be in trouble — and get — into 
prison ! ” 

He ceased ; for he had blubbered outright, and 
could proceed no further. The Sister was amazed. 
She was fully aware of John Ruffin’s morbidly exag- 
gerated sentiments towards Thomas; but had never 
seen in him before anything approaching this. Going 
up to him, she spoke to him sweetly, as she placed 
her hand softly upon his bowed head : 

“Mr. Ruffin, you must not do so — you must not 
do so. I declare my saying ‘she’ was a slip of the 
tongue.” 

“Is it a ‘he,’ then?” he asked, eagerly catching at 
the hope. 

“It’s dark and I must be going. Just one word : 
You needn’t have a particle of fear for your son — 
not a particle. I know this friend of his — indeed, 
I’m intimately acquainted with this friend.” 

“O I’m so glad, Miss Jessie,” he spoke up with a 
reassurred, happy, smiJing manner. “Any one 
you’re intimate with must be all right.” 

“And I tell you most positively, that this friend, 
whatever be the reasons your son may have for with- 
holding the name, isTic^abad one, is not a she-devil, 
nor one capable of harming in any degree your son’s 
body, mind, or soul. Be satisfied with this, Mr. 
Ruffin.” 

“I am, Sister Jessie, I am. I’m glad it’s not a 
‘she.’ I’m afraid of them, when boys are in it.” 

“And don’t you think the ‘he’s’ need some watch- 
ing, too ?” 


222 Thomas Ruflin. 

“No, no — it’s the ‘ she's ’ need it, Sister Jessie, the 
‘she’s.’ ” 

“Very well, Mr. Ruffin; and now I must bid you 
good-bye. Be satisfied with what I have told you.” 

“I am, good Sister, I am.” 

Upon the Sister’s departure John Ruffin rang up , 
Sabina and told her he was going to the Park, and 
requested her to ask Miss Kitty to say to the “Shoe- 
maker,” should he call for his chair, that the work 
was not done, and that he could get it Monday even- 
ing. Sabina delivered the message, and presently 
Miss Kitty thought it worth while to look in and see 
if John Ruffin’s room was in proper order. Proba- 
bly, if the full truth were know, another reason may 
have had its weight. Sandy Johnson long had been 
laying siege to her heart, and while Miss Kitty was 
not deaf to the eloquence which, in its way, he un- 
doubtedly possessed (for she had a fund of sharp 
sense herself and could appreciate it in others), and 
in truth liked the man, yet there lingered a feeling, 
that the Housekeeper at The Home was a little above 
the position of a shoemaker. This feeling, however 
— it really had no sound support — had almost, if not 
altogether, given way before Sandy’s pushing and 
captivating address and his improving condition. For 
Sandy now was one who saved his money. He had 
accumulated a little pile — had a cosy home — never 
got drunk these days — and, not the least, Friend 
Peale, whose name was weighty at The Home, was 
his fast friend. Withal, each had known the joys 
of wedded life; for she was a widow — and he, a wid- 


Thomas Ruffin . 


223 


ower. It was not unlikely, therefore, that one of the 
reasons for looking into John Ruffin’s room at this 
particular time, may have been Sandy’s anticipated 
visit. Be that as it may, it is certain, that, when 
she came in, she gave evidence of having bestowed 
more than usual attention upon her personal appear- 
ance and was smarter looking than common. 

Before long there came a rap at the private en- 
trance door, followed by an admittance. 

“Mistress Kitty!” exclaimed Sandy Johnson (for 
he it was), agreeably surprised at the meeting. 
“The peace o’ the e’enin’ to ye, Mistress Kitty. Yer 
ainsel’s the daisy ye liae iver been.” 

“Be aisy, Sandy Johnson, be aisy with yer blar- 
ney. I’m in a quandary a managin’ The Home. Don’t 
I look so ?” 

“In a quandary? Na, God bless us a’. Indeed, 
ye don’t.” 

“Well, I am, and can ye help a troubled soul 
what to do ?” 

“In quandaries, some say, cut the Bible for a cue.” 

“Cut the Boible for a cue ?” 

“Yes, yes, Mistress Kitty — that’s what she used 
to do, me auld wifie Sue — rest her soul” (signing the 
cross). “In ony trouble she gaed aside wi’ her Bible, 
cut the Buik, and the first words her een lighted on, 
gied her guidance. That’s what I ca’ cuttin’ for a 
cue.” 

“And do you think I’d juggle the loike o’ that 
with God Almighty’s Holy Word ?” 

“Noo, Mistress Kitty, juist let me gie ye a story. 


224 


Thomas Ruffin. 


I heel it frae me wifie’s crony lierseP, wha was a 
Bible-cutter, too. It’s her ain real experience, and 
a’ true to the verra letter.” 

Miss Kitty was attention, and Sandy proceeded : 

“Weel : ’Twas late ae lonely night, when the city 
was a settlin’ into sleep beneath the simmer stars, 
that her son, a walkin’ hame, cam up wi’ a lassie, 
whase manner showed sae great distress, that his 
tender soul spak kindly to her. At the word she 
burstit into tears, sayin’ she lied juist reachit the 
city, knew naebody, and hed nae place to gang to. 
The young mon was touchit, and, acting on the im- 
pulse, took her to his hame and asked his widow 
mother to lodge her. The auld leddy was dumb- 
founded — in a quandary , Mistress Kitty. Wha was 
this lassie % A thief ? or worse ? or what na ? But 
she wadna turn her into the street again. The only 
bed was by her daughter’s side, and that she gied her. 

When a’ hed retired, the auld leddy, sa troubled 
in mind, sought her Bible for guidance the morrow. 
Tlirae times she cut the Buik — tlirae times, Mistress 
Kitty. First she read : 

‘Let britherly love continue.’ 

Thin : 

‘Use hospitality ane to anither.’ 

Thin : 

‘Some hae entertained angels unawares.’ 

Weel, weel ! she cried within liersel’, as she press- 
ed the Holy Buik to her heart, surely the Lord’s 
linger is guiding me. The lassie maunna leave. 

Next day employment was found for her. A 


Thomas Ruffin. 


225 


correspondence followed, showing her in a gudely 
light, and confirming her story, that she hed fled 
frae a step-father’s heavy hand. 

And what’s mair, Mistress Kitty, the young mon 
fell in love — -fell in love, Mistress Kitty. They were 
married, and now are happy in each ithers arms.— 
TltaV s what I ca’ cuttin’ the Bible for a cue.” 

“Begone ! with sich divilment, Sandy Johnson.” 

“Aweel ! aweel ! Hae yer will — liaeyerwill. But 
the story’s naething, if na true. And what a blitli- 
some eending. Mistress Kitty ! If your quandary 
cud only hae an eending like that !” 

Miss Kitty saw matters were getting interesting 
and maintained an equivocal silence. Sandy thought 
the circumstance not unfavorable, and continued : 

“And as for quandaries, Mistress Kitty, I’m in a 
quandary, too. Canna ye help a troubled soul what 
to do ?” 

“Yes — eat yer own dish and cut the Boible for a 
cue.” 

“Sae I hae, Mistress Kitty, sae I hae. Twice I 
opened the leaves; and what d’ye think I read?” 

“Most loikely where it’s said jugglers'and sich 
loike are burned up thegither.” 

“Na, na. I read : ‘Love ane anither.’ ” 

“And what think ye I read next?” 

“Begone ! Sandy Johnson, with yer foolishness 
and rhyme.” 

‘ ‘Mistress Kitty, I read : ‘N ow’ s the accepted time. ’ ’ ’ 

Miss Kitty again was silent. Sandy saw it was the 
opportunity of his life and resolved to do his level 
15 


226 


Thomas Ruffin. 


best. As lie went on, enthused by his subject, the 
various shop terms — pegs, last, awl, wax, &c. — came 
in handily, indirectly and directly, to illustrate his 
affection, and reinforce the amatory appeal. And 
further, he had carefully composed and committed 
a triplet of rough lines, setting forth both the extent 
of his assets and the strength of his devotion, to be 
cast the first chance at Miss Kitty with lover’s aim; 
and he realized the moment had now come to use the 
lines for all they were worth, as the climax of his 
effort. So, drawing his chair close to her side, he 
said softly, as he looked sweet upon her : 

“Mistress Kitty, ae wee word frae you and wha, 
in a’ the round world, wad be sae happy as Sandy 
Johnson ?” — Pause. 

“Mistress Kitty, how to bring matters to a pint, 
that’s my quandary. I hae tried and tried to win 
yer consent. A lang, lang time hae I pegged awa’ 
at it. But ye wad pat me off. Canna ye say that 
wee word noo ?” — Pause. 

“Mistress Kitty, ye’re the last I shall iver gie hand 
and heart to.” (Sandy — while in the term “last” assu- 
ring Miss Kitty she was the only one who would ever 
capture him — had in mind, too, no doubt, the needful 
wooden model to which he had stuck so long and so 
faithfully, as technically and fitly illustrating how 
faithful he would prove to the Housekeeper). “Ye’ re 
my all, I canna wark or live without ye.” (Here 
again, perhaps, Sandy speaks somewhat in a figure, 
and it is a question whether his utterance should be 
written down “all,” or “awl,” the indispensable 


Thomas Ruffin. 


227 


tool of his craft. Very probably lie means another 
alluring pun). “The thread o’ my life rins sae close 
to yer ain, whyna twist and wax the twa thegither ? 
Scotch and Irish union beats creation.” — Pause, and 
then Sandy crowns his appeal : 

“Mistress Kitty, 

I wark sae and sae, but I wad wark like a nigger — 

I hae a wee pile, but the pile wad get bigger— 

I hae a snig hame, but me hame wad be snigger, 

Gin ye wad only say that ae wee word.” 

Miss Kitty had been giving a willing ear, and 
Sandy had found her hand, and his arm had stolen 
round her waist, when, most unfortunately, an in- 
terruption was precipitated. John Ruffin had now 
returned from a short stroll in the Park. He had 
come in by the main door, and Sabina accompanied 
him to his room, to do the routine evening service. 
The inner door of his apartment was ajar and moved 
noiselessly on the hinges that Sabina kept well oiled; 
and Miss Kitty and Sandy, with backs towards this 
door, were absorbed so entirely in each other, that 
they did not hear their partial entrance. 

“Wliat’s up there?” whispered John Ruffin to 
Sabina from the door-way, peering with his dim eyes 
through the twilight gloom. 

“Sh-h-h ! de Shoemaker and Miss Kitty,” Sabina 
responded sotto voce , shaking one hand for silence, 
and with the other stuffing into her mouth, as she 
ceased speaking, a corner of the apron, to suppress 
the guffaw. 

“The scamp !” John Ruffin whispered back. “He’s 
measuring her middle instead of her foot,” 


228 


Thomas Ruffin. 


% 


It is barely possible that Sabina’s power of self- 
restraint, aided by the apron, could have managed 
the guffaw, even under the stimulus of John Ruffin’s 
observation. But, unluckily, it was just at this 
particular moment that Sandy sealed what he con- 
sidered a surrender with a smack, and the guffaw 
that had been struggling and gathering force, burst 
out rousing and irrepressible. 

“Mother o’ God !” exclaimed Miss Kitty, suddenly 
rising at the discovery and flirting away Sandy and 
scowling on him with virtuous indignation, arms 
akimbo, “what d’ye mane , Sandy Johnson! It’s 
little I’d thought ye’d take sich liberty ! Beelzebub 
fly away with ye! Ye’re drunks Sandy Johnson, 
and if me brither Mike was here, he’d be afther 
givin’ ye a blackthorn ! Out with ye, ye haythen 
crayture; and whin ye be sobered, ye may come for 
the cheer !” 

So saying, Miss Kitty marched out; and Sandy, 
too, after a word from John Ruffin touching the 
chair, soon left by the private door, on the whole 
very well satisfied and enjoying a hearty laugh in 
his sleeve. 


CHAPTER XYI. 


IN THE PARK. 

u One of the most trying ills of life is this long- 
continued, clear, dry, beautiful weather,” said the 
gum-shoe man. 

Truly, the day was lovely, for the season. A glo- 
rious sun shone bright and warm in a sky without a 
fleck of a cloud; and while “Bob,” under JSToals’ 
guidance, is awaiting an opportunity to entrap 
Thomas Ruffin and get an impression of his Bank 
key, the reader will be told how the latter availed 
himself of the fine open weather for gratifying an 
earnest wish on the part of Friend Peale. The 
warm-hearted Quaker never had laid eyes on John 
Ruffin, since he had left him at death’s door in his 
wife’s hands at Cloud Cap, and often had expressed 
the wish that he might see, unobserved, his old 
friend. At first an arrangement was out of the ques- 
tion. The state of John Ruffin’s health and wintry 
weather kept him within doors almost the entire 
time. Under change of environment and good nurs- 
ing his condition began to improve — slowly, yet 
perceptibly. The Winter, too, drawing to its close, 
grew less rigorous, with many an open balmy day 


230 


Thomas Ruffin. 


here and there; and John Ruffin would go out, often 
with Thomas, sometimes with Sabina, and of late 
not unfrequently by himself. 

To-night (Thursday), his night at The Home, with 
weather prospects so favorable, Thomas thought a 
meeting could be arranged in the Park. At noon, 
therefore, having a half hour off, he saw Friend 
Peale and designated the particular spot where he 
and his wife (for Friend Peale declared Martha would 
not miss accompanying him) should be at 8 p. m. 
In a certain part of the Park or Square, well known 
to Friend Peale — he often had occasion to pass 
through the grounds — there was a narrow, encircling 
walk, and at a certain point in said walk a side seat, 
and just opposite to this seat were double seats; and 
the shrubbery and lamps were so arranged, that the 
former seat was in full light — the latter, in shade. 
It was arranged that at the above hour Friend Peale 
and his wife would be occupying one of the double 
seats. 

That afternoon Friend Peale met Sandy Johnson, 
spoke of the arrangement, and suggested that Sandy 
go with them. Sandy readily assented, saying he 
would meet Friend Peale at his residence, and bring, 
too, the pair of shoes due this day. The jolly Quaker 
was especially fond of the jolly Shoemaker. They 
had known each other long and well, and a further 
bond at present was a common interest in the Ruffins. 
Each possessed a fund of humor. Rarely did they 
meet without trying conclusions. It was rare, too, 
that the Shoemaker came out second best. Sandy 


Thomas Ruffin, 


231 


was on full time, with shoes in hand, and, while Mrs. 
Peale was getting ready, one of the usual little en- 
counters occurred. 

“Ah ! ah ! walk in, Alexander, walk in,” was the 
hearty salutatiou of Friend Peale, who had just had 
a visit from one of the preachers of his church. “O 
thou mender of soles, had thee been somewhat sooner, 
thee would have met a fellow-worker. One of thy 
craft has just been here.” 

“And wha might he be ?” 

“A preacher.” 

“Ha ! ha ! ha ! a preacher ! By the bye, I hae a 
gude ane on a preacher.” 

“Thee is ever ready with ‘good ones.’ Well, what 
new jest is this” 

“Laist week a preacher moved frae a hoose near 
me ain. Yesterday, an auld leddy moved in. And 
what d’ye think she told me she found in a back 
closet ?” 

“Old sermons most likely — full of spiritual conso- 
lation.” 

“Ha ! ha ! ha ! The covers were thar, but the con- 
solation a’ gane. She found twenty-five empty 
whiskey bottles , labelled frae almaist as mony differ- 
ent drug stores.” 

“Come! Alexander, spare the cloth.” 

“Sae I will — let me feenish; for the label read : 
‘For medeecinal use only.’ Ha! ha! ha! It’s a 
gude ane, or Pm nae son of St. Crispin.” 

“Thee is a better son of St. Pasquin — as full of 
jibes as the old Naples cobbler.” 


232 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“I gied a fac’, na a jibe, Sir.” 

“But a sort of fact” — Friend Peale remarked, 
smiling genially — “thee seems to hug and dance over. 
Cobblers are railers by trade, eh ? So much cutting 
and punching at the bench, beget a cutting, punch- 
ing habit in the mind, eh 

“It’s wrang, Friend Peale,” responded Sandy with 
mock solemnity, “to pint oot a wrang and use nae 
elfort to right it. Ye hae mad an ugly charge upon 
me character, and ye’ll be in the wrang yer ain sel’, 
gin ye canna gie a remedy.” 

“Well— turn Quaker.” 

“Humph 1 P m a quaker noo. Yer ain sharp tongue 
maks me a quaker — a quaker for me reputation.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! Where’s a better wit than the 
cobbler V 9 

“I may cast a spark and mak wit to be in ithers, 
if nae mair.” 

“Thee shall be called the merry cobbler, Alexan- 
der.” 

“A merry cobbler ! Weel a day ! If ye wad s‘ee 
me a merry cobbler, gie me a sherry cobbler.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! Thee is Alexander the Great — in 
thy way. 

Well, I see thee has the shoes. Thee is ever 
punctual. This be the day and the hour to deliver 
thy handicraft.” 

“Punctual as the pay, St. Crispin bless yer Rev- 
erence.” 

“A truce to ‘ your Reverence ,’ Alexander. Ill it 
sits on Scotch lips; for it savors not of Scotch faith. 


Thomas lluffin. 


233 


And thee will apply it, when thee knows we Friends 
set little store on its under thought of priestly form 
and ceremony.” 

“Oor faiths are nigher kin than some may think, 
Friend Peale. The corn grows wi’ a husk. The 
kernel lies sweet in its shell. The church liae a form 
and a ceremony. But sure, Sir, the church hae 
anither side, and her ain sel’ is where mon gies mon 
his hand in the Master’s spirit. These mony years 
hae I seen that spirit in Friend Peale deep and pure; 
and ‘yer Reverence’ is a way I hae of toucliin’ me 
cap to it.” 

Friend Peale, of course, had nothing else to do but 
reply with a profound bow; and Sandy, in respond- 
ing with another of like quality, made a vigorous 
scrape with his right lower extremity, bringing the 
calf into violent contact with his chair, plumb against 
a healing but tender ulcer. 

“Umph !” he cried out lustily, with a twinge of 
that morbid exaltation of sensibility called pain, as 
a scowl sat upon his face and the palm went rubbing 
the wounded member. 

“Good lack ! Alexander ! What ails thee, man?” 

“Hit the sore on me leg, Sir. A bad, bad ane. A 
week it laid me up.” 

“And has pulled thee down, too. When I think 
of it, thee looks a little worsted. The doctor’s salve, 
I hope, is making thee whole.” 

“Makin’ me whole ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! It mad the 
hole worse, yer Reverence. Ane o’ thase pill-an’- 
powder laddies tried his hand. He gied it a lang 


234 Thomas Ruffin. 

name, physicked a lang time, and hes, nae doubt, a 
lang bill.” 

“And thee had no benefit ?” 

“Na. The ulcer grew worse. Pains ran a’ down 
into me foot and toe and I thocht I hed the goot.” 

“I can tell thee, Alexander, where thee will never 
have the gout.” 

Sandy gave a look of inquiry, and the response 
came : 

“In thy tongue.” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” 

“Ah ! well. Thee may doctor thy broken skin 
thyself. Thee is familiar with skins and patches.” 

“Sud I gang a doctoring, yer Reverence, I wad hae 
a doctor’s wisdom and na doctor mysel’. Na, na. 
An auld woman cam in, clapped on her poultice, 
and here I be up and oot. Nae mair doctors to pat 
up a job on me.” 

“Well, well, let’s see what sort of a job thee has 
put up on myself.— Why, look here, my man, these 
soles” — scrutinizing the shoes — “seem somewhat 
broad.” 

“And gude reason, yer Reverence — yer foot is 
somewhat broad.” 

“Come! come! Alexander. There was a ‘drap’ 
too much, I ween, when thee made the measure.” 

“I’ll lose the wage on a misfit, Sir. Try the shune. 
It’s the shune o’ thine ain sel’, broad-brimmed and 
broad-soled” — no doubt Sandy meant to include 
“broad-souled” — “frae tap tae toe.” 

“A smooth and ready tongue thou hast. — Thy 


Thomas Ruffin. 


235 


wage” — handing the money. “The sum I know by 
repetition. With rise and fall of awls and pegs and 
hides, through all these years the price hath kept 
one point” — (nod and grin of satisfaction from Sandy) 
— “placed high and safe in profit’s margin.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! A sharp turn, yer Reverence.” 

“Thee has taught me such tricks. But I must 
leave thee a moment, and wish thee profitable re- 
flections, while I hurry up the Madam,” continued 
Friend Peale, as he consulted his watch. “It’s time 
we be going.” 

“Thar gangs a mon ,” was Sandy’s comment, as 
Friend Peale left the room — “fu’ o’ juist preenciples 
and seentiments — a chreestian wi’ a polish on — a 
head light, nae penny dip !” 

Friend Peale and wife anon appeared, the latter 
in garment of fine texture and true Quaker style — 
neat, simple, comfortable, and distinctive — and su- 
perior, pure taste should say, to the shifting fash- 
ions of the day. They at once left for the Park, and 
at 8 p. m. were occupying the seat that had been 
chosen. 

To revert to Thomas — he reached The Home earlier 
than usual, soon after dark. The evening was a 
beautiful one, as he had anticipated, clear and starry 
and mild; and after supper he proposed to his Father 
a walk in the Park. It was a favorite resort to John 
Ruffin, as has been said. The cosy seats and shelters, 
showy shrubbery, smooth clean walks, and well kept 
grounds generally, made it one of the most inviting 
Squares in the city; and under its brilliant lights it 


236 


Thomas Ruffin. 


was frequented by night, as well as by day, even in 
Winter, when the weather allowed. 

To John Ruffin there were two special attractions. 
The fine trees were one, whereof there were many, 
with almost as many varieties — Pin Oak, Ash, Elm, 
Silver Maple, Sugar Maple, Tulip Poplar, Button- 
wood, &c., &c. He never had seen them in foliage. 
But they were noble of size and proportion — many 
venerable for age — a number representative of Cloud 
Cap flora — all representative of the woods and the 
forest to which he had been accustomed, and hence 
objects of specific interest. 

The other attraction were the ancient churches, 
either bordering the Square, or but a stone’s throw 
away, all memorials of the preceding century, show- 
ing thorough workmanship, walls so ample, no mean 
saving of material, and architecture all of correct 
type. Here stood one of Doric style, with plain 
massy pillars, curling capitals, and extended portico. 
And near this, a Corinthian edifice, with channelled 
pillar and garish frieze. And over against these, 
on the other side of the Square, an ancient Quaker 
Meeting House, 'marked by the rigid simplicity 
characteristic of that denomination, no tower, no 
spire, no clerestory, gable fronting the street, and 
encircled by a wall, with coping and gates, all so 
high and thick and strong and massive, as to resem- 
ble rather the inclosure to a fortress. It delighted 
John Ruffin to wander through these historic edifi- 
ces, as he had done recently by himself once or twice 
— and note the solid handiwork, and fine arches, and 


237 


Thomas Muffin. 

square-boxed j>ews, and read the mural tablets and 
the marble set in the aisles, commemorative of per- 
sonages and heroes and statesmen of old who de- 
parted this life in the odor of sanctity. 

Thomas found the Peales and Sandy Johnson 
seated, as had been agreed upon. With his Father 
leaning upon his arm in a way so clinging and con- 
tented-looking, he slowly walked a number of times 
up and down just in front of, and near to, the set- 
tee. Next, they seated themselves on the settee op- 
posite, with the light directly upon them. The 
Peales had a full view and scarce could believe their 
eyes.. They were x>repared to see great change, but 
not the wreck before them. Could this man — so old, 
so gray, so bent and broken — be the remains of the 
hearty, bright-eyed, high-bred John Ruffin of less 
than two years back ? They were astonished and 
never would have recognized him. 

Presently, there was another walk, and then 
Thomas, with his Father by him, took the vacant 
settee abutting that occupied by the Peales and 
Sandy. These settees were on the inner side of the 
circular walk, and, conforming to the curve, their 
abutting ends made an outer angle in such wise 
that Thomas, who sat next to the Peales, cut off 
their view from his Father. As they turned to be 
seated, John Ruffin noticed the presence of strangers, 
but not seeing them after being seated, directly he 
forgot them, spoke freely to Thomas and was over- 
heard easily. 

An incident gave the first direction to the conver- 


238 


Thomas Ruffin. 


sation. Scarcely liad they become seated, when a 
beggar approached and extended his hand. He had 
recognized John Ruffin on his entering the Square, 
and had followed, watching an opportunity to ask 
an alms. The reader has been told that John Ruffin 
often asked Thomas for pennies, to give to the “poor 
beggars” he would meet on his strolls. The beggars 
soon came to know their man, as well as his custom- 
ary walks and hours, and would be on the lookout 
for him. And in the course of this narrative it will 
appear there were at times thievish characters among 
them, and they would impose on John Ruffin, after 
getting a penny going ahead and soliciting again at 
the next corner — a matter the Blue Coats had begun 
to notice, and more than one of these characters had 
been threatened and driven off. 

John Ruffin began fumbling in his pocket, but 
Thomas, though he did not relish the fellow’s looks, 
anticipated his Father and gave the penny. As the 
beggar walked off, John Ruffin observed, evidently 
with a personal bearing in the thought : 

“That poor beggar may be happy, Tammie, though 
the world doesn’t think so.” 

Thomas had his own notion touching the fellow’s 
being a poor beggar or a worthy beggar, but replied 
to the general idea in the latter clause of his Father’s 
sentence : 

“The world, Father, often thinks one way, when 
the truth is just the other way.” 

“That’s so, Tammie.” 

“The world, for example, thinks it nonsense to say 


Thomas Ruffin. 


239 


tlie rich are wretched, or that happiness stands in 
tears,” continued Thomas, having in mind how often 
in his own trials and prayers, refreshment would 
follow a flood of tears. 

“That’s so. I used to think Tammie never would 
catch on and kept heaping up a pile to take care of 
him, and here Tammie’ s taking care of me.” 

“And you mean, too, Father, you’re not so un- 
happy, because it’s so.” 

“I do, I do, my Son. Ought I to be unhappy, when 
I’m like the Lord ?” rei>lied John Ruffin, an attend- 
ant upon whose affliction was the development of a 
strong religious vein. “Wasn’t the Lord poor, 
Tammie ?” 

“Yes, He was poor, Father — born poor, lived poor, 
and died poor.” 

“And had no x>lace to lay His head — not as well 
off as the tramps, Tammie.” 

“And so is a comfort to the poorest.” 

“And the angels ministered to Him, too.” 

“Yes — on one occasion at least, the Bible tells us.” 

“And you , Tammie, are sent to take care of me, 
and I thank God and am happy, my Son.” 

“I wish, Tammie,” he continued, as another 
thought came across his mind, “you could go out 
with me oftener in the day.” 

“I wish so, too.” 

“I would show you, then, the churches here.” 

“I’ve seen them, Father — often. What would you 
show me of special interest?” 

“The pillars and the carvings. They’re fine. Such 


240 


Thomas Ruffin. 


line work. But finer, I’ve read, in the old world.” 

“And finest, Father, in the other world, as you’ll 
one day see,” remarked Thomas ; for religion is in 
harmony with the love of the ideal that slumbers in 
every breast. 

“What d’you mean, Tammie ?” 

“I fear you would not understand me,” replied 
Thomas, who saw now his mistake in having sug- 
gested an idea which he should have known would 
excite his Father’s curiosity, yet one it would be 
difficult, perhaps, to explain to him. 

“But I must know, Tammie, what you know 
about the other world.” 

“I mean, then, that wise and holy men who write 
about such things, tell us that all these beautiful 
things that come from man’s hand — do you under- 
stand me, Father f’ 

“I think I do.” 

— “that all these beautiful things, as a painting 
or a chiseled marble, or the beauty we see in these 
things — I fear, Father, I shall only worry you by 
talking so.” 

“No, no. Go on, Tammie. Anyhow, I love to 
hear you talk.” 

— “that the beauty we see in these things, such as 
paintings or chiseled marble, are just the shadows 
from patterns or originals of perfect beauty that fill 
the heavenly world and make a delight for those 
who go there.” 

John Ruffin paused in reflection, and presently 
Thomas added : 


Thomas Ruffin. 241 

“I am reading a holy book that tells of these 
things.” 

“I’m glad you’re reading and thinking of the other 
world. All these troubles are good, if they make 
you think of the other world, Tammie.” 

“Very true, Father.” 

“/ think of the other world every morning, when 
I get up, and every night before I go to bed — and all 
through the day. It’s the only question. Isn’t it, 
Tammie ?” 

“Yes, Father, the only real question. Everyman 
in his senses must solemnly ask it some time or 
other.” 

“There is a church near here,” Thomas continued, 
“in which I myself have a warm interest.” 

“Which is it ?” 

“The old Quaker Meeting House over there.” 

“O yes, I know —with the high wall.” 

“It’s a very old church — built years and years ago 
in the far away past.” 

“I like what’s away back,” remarked John Ruffin, 
catching at the idea of the “past,” which, as an out- 
come of his misfortunes, had taken on exceptional 
magnitude and worth. “Everything in the past looks 
to be bigger. Things were better then, Tammie — 
men were stronger then, Tammie.” 

“Yes, Father,” replied Thomas, whose admirations 
also lay in the past, “I believe pretty much as you 
do. The men of past ages appear to have been 
stronger.” 

“To.be sure, Tammie. Sampson was in the past, 
and wasn’t he the strongest man ?” 


242 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“I don’t speak of muscle, Father, though it may 
be true of muscle. I speak of life in its higher forms. 
Life seems to have been stronger, more intense then 
on every line. Religious life was more intense, with 
the hermit for its representative.” 

“Those who prayed in caves, Tammie?” 

“Yes, Father. — And political and military life was 
more intense, with the nobleman for its representa- 
tive.” 

“You’ve been reading another book, haven’t you, 
Tammie?” asked John Ruffin* with a general idea of 
what his son had delivered. 

“No, Father. What I’ve said is from the same 
book I spoke of just now.” 

“You and the book are right, Tammie. No use 
talking — no times like the old times. No such men 
these days. No noblemen these days.” 

“But, Father, we mustn’t go to extremes. There 
are many strong and good men now, as there were 
many weak and bad men in the past. We are speak- 
ing of ages, or the tendency or drift of ages — do you 
understand me, Father?” 

“I think I do.” 

“And our age, as an age, appears to me to be one 
intense only for loving and for making money; and 
its representative is an acquaintance of mine in this 
very city named Black Isaac.” 

“What! what’s that, Tammie. Are you making 
acquaintances among black men ?” 

Just at this moment there happened to be on the 
other settee a little commotion, yet audible enough, 


Thomas Ruffin. 


243 


Thomas feared, to attract his Father’s attention. He 
cleared his throat once or twice and looked around, 
pausing necessarily, and his Father, in ignorance of 
the cause of the pause, repeated the question in tones 
significant of deepened astonishment : 

“I say, Tammie, is it possible you’re making ac- 
quaintances among black men ?” 

“No, Father, no — I mean lie’s a black-hearted 
man.” 

“Good gracious, my son !” cried out John Ruffin 
in consternation and turning full upon Thomas, 
“making acquaintances and friends among black- 
hearted men !” 

There was another little shaking up on the adjoin- 
ing settee, and Thomas had occasion again to clear 
his throat very distinctly, yet was prompt to answer 
and reassure his Father : 

“No, no. no, Father — you don’t understand me. 
I’m not intimate with any black-hearted man, I as- 
sure you. Certainly not. But in the Bank I have 
business dealings, more or less, with persons of such 
character. I simply know this man. He’s no friend 
of mine.” 

”0 !” responded ‘John Ruffin in an accent of relief. 

“I was speaking, Father, of the old Quaker Church. 
It has a special interest for me, because a good and 
true friend of mine worships there.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“I had better not say, perhaps.” 

“Yes, but you had , Tammie.” 

“It might not please you,” 


244 


Thomas Ruflin. 


“But it will please me; for isn’t any friend of 
yours a friend of mine ? And I promise to like kirn 
before you name him.” 

“It’s Friend Peale, Father.” 

John Ruffin was silent. 

“Don’t you remember Friend Peale, Father?” 
Thomas asked after a moment’s pause. 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t you know how fond of him you used to 
be ?” 

“Yes.” 

“You haven’t changed towards him, Father, have 
you ?” 

“0 no — but he may’ve changed towards poor me.” 

“I tell you, Father, he has not .changed. He is 
still a dear and a close friend to me — and to you, 
too, in spirit — dearer and closer than ever, and it 
would delight him to have you let me bring him to 
you, that he may tell you himself how warm his 
heart is towards you.” 

Thomas was conscious of a movement on the other 
settee, and feared lest the warm-hearted Quaker, 
under the.unexpected circumstances of the situation, 
might come forward and make a scene. He cau- 
tioned with a backward movement of the hand, ,as 
his Father replied : 

“You know, Tammie, how I’ve felt towards some 
other people.” 

“Yes, Father, 1 do; but I hope you’re getting over 
that feeling. You don’t feel altogether as you did, 
Father, do you ?” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


245 


“May be not.” 

“And if you can’t see Friend Peale now, you may 
let him see you one of these days ?” 

“May be so. Come, my son, it’s getting late. 
Let us go.” 

On the way back to The Home Thomas had good 
reason for indulging in pleasing reflections. He had 
just recognized for the first time an evident change 
for the better in his Father’s sentiments touching 
his friends of other days. Never before had he 
spoken to him so directly and plainly respecting 
them, and he rejoiced to find no repulse. It was 
another sign of a general improvement. He felt he 
saw the day approaching, when his Father would 
welcome Friend Peale and other old friends and ac- 
quaintances, and an opening up of channels of hap- 
piness — for himself (so much needed now), as well 
as for him — which affliction’s hand for the time had 
held closed. 

The Peales and Sandy parted for home at the en- 
trance to the Park, after some earnest words touch- 
ing what they had just seen and heard. The 
Peales walked on in silence, each absorbed in re- 
newed reflections upon John Ruffin’s pitiable fate. 
The tragedy never had appeared so vivid — yesterday 
the magnificence of Cloud Cap, so goodly a heritage, 
such fullness of substance and of joy — today stripped 
bare and inmate at The Home ! 

“The changes of earth!” exclaimed Friend Peale 
within himself, as he dwelt on all this — “how sud- 
den ! how unforeseen ! how overwhelming ! No 


246 


Thomas Ruffin. 


change there,” glancing up at the stars, whose singu- 
lar radiance caught his eye at the moment and gave 
direction to the thought. “Change, change here ! 
None there among the everlasting stars, since the 
first records of the constellations were made, hundreds 
and hundreds of years ago— but the same calm, se- 
rene, peaceful appearance ! There is the identical 
configuration,” he continued within himself, noting 
the Great Dipper at the zenith, “that my Father 
pointed out to me, when a boy — that Galileo, and 
Plato, and Aristotle have described, speeding their 
giant spheres athwart, the heavens, unchanged by the 
minutest fraction of an inch that science can dis- 
cover ! And there, descending the western sky, are 
the “Pleiades” and the “Bands of Orion,” just as 
Job beheld them in the land of Uz, unchanged 
through thousands of years ! Change, change here ! 
No change there ! Perhaps they are our homes, our 
final homes, these mighty spheres, and their change- 
less courses signs of our destiny, tokens of rest and 
peace without change, without end — their very 
movements day by day, through the Creator's be- 
neficent hand, suggesting visibly, to those with eyes 
to see, a support against all change and bitterness 
below !” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


bob’s job. 

The thread of the plot concocted in the fertile 
and malignant brains of the Pawnbroker and Noals, 
was dropped at the point where it had been settled 
that the globe-trotter, Robert Small, should hocus- 
pocus Thomas Ruffin out of an impression of the 
key for the Bank' s rear door. The thread will be 
picked up here. This key, it has been stated, had 
been given by Black Isaac to Thomas for his per- 
sonal use. The former, indeed, had fulfilled his 
promise to provide Noals with a duplicate key. 
This had been done the day following the last inter- 
view between them, already detailed. Yet it was 
deemed expedient to have Bob do the job, though it 
necessitated some delay, as a test of his skill and 
good faith. 

It was arranged, therefore, between Robert and 
Noals (the interview, as all the others, being under 
cover of darkness, and Noals, of course, disguised 
as a cracksman), that Robert, in disguise furnished 
by Noals and representing a Pen and Ink Agent or 
Pedlar, should try to get in his fine piece of work 
the following Wednesday evening at early candle 


248 


Thomas Baffin. 


light. Should he succeed* the key would be made 
next day, and that night (Thursday) the scheme 
finally carried through, with Robert’s departure 
abroad on the morrow. 

Bob, whose appetite for adventure had become 
sharpened by long abstinence, entered into the 
scheme with spirit ; and being withal the smartest 
sort of a fellow, whose wit had not been dulled a 
whit by his manifold experiences, he had made, as 
he conceived, a brilliant preparation, whereof a fea- 
ture were certain lines puffing the Pens he was to 
hawk, and which he repeated to Noals r to the lat- 
ter’s complete satisfaction. 

Now, it fell out that John- Ruffin, that identical 
Wednesday evening, made one of his secret visits to 
the Bank. It will be remembered that he had early 
expressed an earnest desire to visit the Bank , both 
to see his son’s surroundings, and to make the ac- 
quaintance of Dalguspin — towards whom, at that 
time, he cherished the most grateful.sentiments, but 
that Thomas, for the reasons there given, had per- 
suaded him against the step, satisfying his Father 
with the prospect of his visiting Dalguspin at his 
residence later on. But John Ruffin had become 
most unhappy about his son — his growing thinness, 
especially. Nor could the latter avoid breaks here 
and there in his carefully guarded exterior aspect, 
disclosing disturbing symptoms to his Father’s sus- 
picious and watchful eye. The assurances Thomas 
gave were quieting for the moment only. His 


Thomas Ruffin. 


249 


Father’s fears would spring up again and prey upon 
liim secretly. Finally, nothing must do but to visit 
the Bank. Something, he thought, might be learnt. 
He would see something at least with his own eyes, 
and know better how Thomas was getting on. 

To do this, without his son’s knowledge, it was 
necessary the visits should be made after dark, and 
the “seeing” confined to looking through the win- 
dows. The Bankas location he readily found out 
through Sabina. It was not far off; and he had 
made one or two of these visits prior to that here 
recorded. The building fell very far short of expec- 
tations, and at the same time Dalguspin’s stature 
shrank anew. Of the three balls John Ruffin took 
no notice. Upon points of special interest — to wit : 
the cause of Thomas’ thinning so, and the reason for 
those unusual broodings at unguarded moments, 
&c. — the visits of course threw no light. Still, it 
was a joy at the least to see his dear son at the desk, 
working such long and patient hours, and all for 
him. He would stand and stand and gaze in through 
the window, unconscious of anything that might be oc- 
curring around him. On this particular Wednesday 
evening he was making the third visit, and had been 
at the window perhaps twenty minutes, when he saw 
Thomas leave the “cage” hat in hand and pass out 
through a side door. Fearing discovery he turned 
to slip away, and, as he did so, became conscious of 
a crowd very near him, and loud excited talking — a 
circumstance that further hastened his steps. 


250 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Let it be observed that, as John Ruffin started 
down the street Friend Peale entered the Bank from 
up the street, for a special call upon Thomas — to be 
informed by William, the watchman, that Mr Ruffin 
just that minute had left — that he had passed out 
through the Loan Office, to speak to the clerk there, 
otherwise he probably would have met him at the 
door — that Mr. Ruffin had told him he would be back 
in half hour — and that he had a deliberate and 
a decided opinion he had gone to the barber’s for a 
hair-cutting or a shave. (By the way, William must 
stand corrected in one particular — Thomas Ruffin’s 
means were altogether too limited to allow the use 
of any other razor than his own.) Now, the watch- 
man’s weighty surmise brought it to Friend Peale’ s 
mind, that he had omitted the usual shave that 
morning, and he reflected, as he stroked the rugged 
chin, that the barber’s would not be an unbecoming 
place for himself. He took a chair at the round 
table outside the “cage,” undecided as to whether 
he should remain, or call again presently. He had 
not met Thomas since the scene in the Park, and was 
especially desirous of speaking to him touching that 
interesting meeting. While debating the matter of 
remaining or not, Sandy Johnson, who had been the 
centre of the commotion on the street, roughly en- 
tered, wagging his head and exclaiming.: 

“Hut! tut! hut! tut! The Deil tak the Blue 
Coats !” 

“Heyday! What now, Alexander ?” 

“Ah ! Grude morrow, yer Reverence,” replied 


Thomas Ruffin. 


251 


Sandy, who in the partial light (for Thomas had 
turned the lamp down), had mistaken Friend Peale 
for the watchman. “I’ll be e’en wi’ the mon, orniver 
cut hide again.” 

“What’s the matter ? Thee looks sour.” 

“And I feel as I look, as the lad said, whan he 
stole of nights into the pantry.” 

“Ha! ha! ha! But, my merryman, what’s the 
matter, I say ? What has aroused thee so ?” 

“He wad arrist me for speaking to a beggar-mon, 
the blackguard !” 

“Strange ! Alexander. Our patrolmen have the 
best reputation.” 

“The Blue Coat was his ain sel’, like the brute 
he be.” 

“How ? how ?” 

“I’ll tell yer Beverence : On me way hither to hae 
a word wi’ Mr. Tammas, I spied ahead me auld 
tounsman, and, curious to ken his ain, followed juist 
behind. To ev’ry beggar he wad gie a penny and 
whisper a word. ’Twas always the same (for I ques- 
tioned the beggars narrowly): ‘Pray for Tammie.’ 
He mad for Dalguspin’s Bank and stoppit at the 
barred window thar ower against his son’s desk. 
The street was sae bustling wi’ chatty clerks and 
workmen hurrying hame and the auld gentleman sae 
absorbed, that I got verra’ near and cud see the liftit 
eye and the moving lip, as he gazed in upon his son. 
Thar he stood fu’ half an lioor; thin turned to gae, 
whan he saw Mr. Tammas leave his desk.” 


252 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“I think I’ll watch for him some evening myself, 
to have another look at my old friend.” 

“Ye may look oot, too, for Blue Coats.” 

“Blue Coats !” 

“Ay ! Yer Reverence; for, as I turned to gang 
awa’, a Blue Coat roughly pat his hand upon me.” 

“What are ye aboot, said he !” 

“An honest mon’s business, said I.” 

“Ye spak juist noo to a thief, said he.” 

“He’s a beggar, said I.” 

“He’s a bully thief, said he.” 

“Ye’re a bully yoursel’, said I, enraged.” 

“I’ll arrist ye, said he, and'hae ye caged.” 

“Ah ! Alexander, what says your poet Robbie 
Burns ? : ‘Prudent, cautious self-control is wisdom’s 
root.’ The Blue Coat, when I think of it, no doubt 
did his duty.” 

“To arrist me for speaking to a beggar-mon ! Why, 
yer Reverence, to save mesel’ frae prison, I hed to 
tak the mon aside and tell him a’ John Ruffin’s 
story. E’en thin he dinna scarce believe me and 
spak most roughly. I hae nae love for Blue Coats.” 

“And there thee is unreasonable. No doubt the 
beggar was a thief hard run; and what with thy 
following up John Ruffin and his stopping at the 
Bank and gazing through the window, truly, Alex- 
ander, thy actions looked suspicious.” 

“A Blue Coat’s a Blue Coat, Sir. Wha shot me dog? 
A Blue Coat. I love him nae and wad drink to him 
sae” (taking a glass from the table): “A Blue Coat — 
a weel paid, a weel fed, a weel clad fellow, hard to 


Thomas Ruffin. 25 3 

find, when most needed” (glass turned off in panto- 
mime). 

“And /, Alexander, would drink to him thus” 
(taking the glass): “Our Blue Coats — the Majesty of 
the Law brought down to a fine executive x^oint” 
(glass turned off in pantomime). 

“Aweel ! I’ll waste nae mair words on the fellow. 
I cam in juist now wi’ me crusty side foremost. 
But me ither side and me fuller side and me. better 
side was truly pitifu’ wi’ thochts aboot auld John 
Ruffin. In a’ me spat wi’ the fellow and the runnin’ 
up of x>assers-by, to hear, thar stood the puir mon a 
gazin’ in on his son and hearing naething of the 
hubbub sae near him.” 

“These visits must be in secret as far as Thomas 
is concerned. I am quite sure he knows nothing of 
’em. He tells me he has made every effort to keej) 
his Father away from the Bank , or even learning its 
location, lest he should recognize the meaning of the 
golden balls.” 

“And where be Mr. Tammas ?” asked Sandy look- 
ing round. “I hae na spak wi’ him sin’ oor Park 
meeting.” 

“At the barber’s, William informs me — to be back 
presently. And I am thinking I need the barber’s 
hand, too” — stroking his chin. “Will thee wait till 
I return ?” 

“Na, na. I’ll juist speak the while wi’ a crony 
ower the way.” 

Scarcely had they left, when Thomas came in, and 
while the watchman was speaking to him of his vis- 


254 


Thomas Ruffin. 


itors, a stranger, with valise in hand, who had been 
observing Thomas closely through the window, 
briskly entered. 

“Mr. Dalguspin, Jr., I presume,” said the strang- 
er, saluting. 

“No, Sir. My name is Ruffin. I’m employed in 
the Bank.” 

“The very identical person I should see,” remark- 
ed the stranger, professionally and by species a Pen 
and Ink Agent — genus, Book Agent — who proceeded 
to exhibit his wares and to recommend them with 
all the volubility, assurance, and insistency G f 
his class. “My name is Elba Kramer. Backwards, 
you observe, it spells remarfcaMe, and I live up to 
my name; for I’m offering some really remarkable 
wares — exactly apropos of a Bank Clerk. You see, 
Sir, I’m a merchant on foot, and offer wares so ex- 
cellent, that, for dear humanity’s sake, I carry them 
to the public, waiting not for the public to come to 
me.” 

While rattling this off Kramer busies himself 
opening his valise and pack. 

“I’m a Pen and Ink Merchant, Sir,” he continued 
— “a responsible post, Sir; since the Pen, as known 
of all men, is mightier than the sword, and the Ink 
Pot— that ‘sable well,’ as the poet hath it, is the 
‘fount of fame or infamy.’ ” 

If the Agent’s volubility, so smooth and rapid, 
drew a smile from Thomas, the latter was further 
taken with what may be called his easy and gentle- 
manly impudence. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


255 


“Here are samples of my stock, Sir, varied and 
large,” lie went on, at the same time spreading upon 
the table a number of pens. The merits of each va- 
riety, manually exhibiting them one by one, he then 
descanted upon in the following Hudibrastic lines 
given with all the graces of elocution, to the great 
amusement of Thomas : 












Pens of all shapes, shades, and sizes — 

At the Fairs have swept the prizes’ 

Pens of every sort of metal — 

Gold, silver, bismuth, steel, et. al. 

Pens of high and low degree — 

Pens with two points. Pens with three — 
Bank Pens — Pens to mark up clothing — 
Pens Commercial— Pens Engrossing. 

Here are stub Pens, coarse and fine, Sir- 
Beat creation in their line, Sir. 

Here’re Pens Oblique — yet Pens that we 
’Gainst crooked writing guarantee. 

These Falcon Pens ain’t much on biting, 
But, you bet, are death on writing. 

This, the Pen styled Caligraphic. 

This, par excellans, Elastic. 

This barrel Pen I call a knave — 

It carries staff instead of stave. 

Here’s the celebrated ‘U’ Pen. 

Here’s the lady’s billet doux Pen. 

Here are Pens with nibs of rubies— 
Rarely bought but by boobies. 

My Pens from morn to eve I cry up — 

I cry my Pens, and never dry up— 

I cry good Pens, best of their kind— 

If any stick-frogs you should find— 

If not the Pens of Pens , why, then, 

You may put me in the Pen , 

With Penny loaf for daily dinner, 

A Penetrated, Penitential sinner ! 


256 


Thomas Ruffin. 


A hearty laugh from Thomas greeted the eloquent 
peroration, and the Agent then went on: 

“But, my dear Sir, dropping the strains where- 
with, on special occasions, I advertise my merchan- 
dise, allow me to bring to your attention one bright 
particular article. A real factor, Sir, in nineteenth 
century progress, is the English Steel Pen ; and 
this”— exhibiting the pen — “is the best of them all, 
the unapproached, the unapproachable Compound 
Elastic. Rolled in Sheffield, the steel was shaped, 
cut, hardened, tempered, ground, and slit in Bir- 
mingham, by that prince of makers whose initials 
you see stamped upon the shank, J. G. 

“This pen, Sir, is worthy of a study. Its polish- 
ed platina x>oints hold the ink well and glide easily 
over the paper. Observe, too, this slight hollow 
just above the nibs, perceptible to a nice touch, the 
tactus eruditus (I’ve looked a little into Latin, Sir). 
It enhances the gradual flow of the sable fluid — a 
great point, Sir, I can positively assure you.” — 
Thomas still greatly amused. 

“Above all, you will please notice the manifold 
devices to promote elasticity. This puncture or 
aperture in which the central slit terminates, is loca- 
ted, you perceive, below the shoulder, thereby throw- 
ing the centre of elasticity between the shoulder and 
the nibs — another great point, Sir. In addition to 
the central slit, you see here two lateral, internal, 
longitudinal slits, with external cross crescent slits 
meeting them from the slopes. They all respond 
harmoniously to the gentlest finger pressure, ensur- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


257 


ing an elasticity far superior to any product of the 
gray goose wing.” — Thomas continues to be greatly 
amused. 

“The elasticity of these Pens is a marvel, Sir. A 
gentlemen recently told me he was testing the spring 
of the nibs on his thumb nail. Something diverted 
attention a moment. When he looked for the Pen 
again, lo ! it was gone — whether into the heavens 
above, or the earth beneath, God only knows. In- 
advertently he had exerted a little too much pres- 
sure, and the Pen, rebounding, whizzed off, clear 
out of sight and search. It’s a positive fact, Sir.” 
— Thomas all in smiles. 

“And I can tell you another interesting fact. The 
use of these Pens is distinctly beneficial to stiffened 
joints. There is such a thing, Sir, as sympathetic 
movement, as well as sympathetic suffering, and in 
using these Pens the peculiar sense of elastic play 
under digital pressure, coaxes on, throughout the 
organism a corresj)onding movement” (twisting 
about his body in illustration), “that gradually 
supples up stiffened joints in a manner mirabile 
dictu ! An old rheumatic gentleman tells me he 
has obtained in this way singular relief, and that 
twenty-five cents’ worth of these Pens will guaran- 
tee more solid satisfaction than any doctor’s bill a 
yard long. It’s sympathy , Sir, sympathy — as the 
young man said, when he kissed the young lady, on 
seeing the old folks a kissin’ each other.” 

Here Thomas’ smiles broke into a laugh, and 
Kramer deemed the moment opportune to solicit a 
purchase. 


258 


Thomas Ruffin. 


‘ ‘Let me sell you this box, Sir? Contains one 
dozen. Costs twenty-five cents. Every Pen worth 
the money.” 

“No,” replied Thomas. “I am compelled to de- 
cline.” 

“Allow me, then, the liberty to present you with 
a Pen. Use it and you’ll buy, when I call upon you 
next week. — A stick, too, goes with it — a stick, Sir, 
worthy of the Pen. Light”— weighing stick on fin- 
ger — “though overlong, measuring from butt to 
point 7\ inches, and back again, making in all 15 
inches. None of your Florida cedar, the common 
stick stuff. This cedar, Sir, grew on the heights of 
Lebanon — a stick, Sir, such as were used by those 
ancient ones out of Zebulon who ‘handled the pen of 
the writer,’ and, permit me to add, becomes the hand 
of so worthy a looking young man as yourself.” 

“I thank you,” said Thomas, taking the pen and 
staff with a highly amused countenance. 

“Now let me show you, Sir, specimens of my Ink.” 

Kramer dives into his pocket — feels for something 
— then stops and looks surprised. 

“By the Styx ! I’m in a fix ! I’ve lost or mislaid 
the key to the Ink compartment. Will you please 
lend me your bunch, Mr. Ruffin % I may find a key 
to suit.” 

“Certainly,” Thomas replied, handing his bunch 
of keys. 

“By the way, Mr. Ruffin, here are some remark- 
able blotters,” observed Kramer, as he drew from 
the valise several highly ornamented blotters, and, 
having felt them over rapidly, put two aside. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


259 


“They don’t blot my reputation, Sir. Into their 
substance is incorporated a chemical agent that gives 
them absorbent qualities altogether unique and re- 
markable — so remarkable, that, in using them, a 
caution becomes necessary. That is to say : A single 
slight stroke over the sheet” — making the motion — 
“suffices. Be on guard, Sir. No more than this, no 
continued pressure, or so much moisture will be ab- 
sorbed from the fingers, as to dampen the paper 
through and run the ink. Upon my word, Sir, a 
gentleman who had been using these blotters with- 
out knowledge, found his linger ends becoming 
shrunken and shrivelled. He called in a doctor who 
gave a diagnosis of ‘Idiopathic Terminal Atrophy, 
superinduced by some neurotic lesion of Central or 
Peripheral origin.’ He treated the case and ran up 
a bill as long as the name. But the poor fellow, like 
the woman of Holy Writ who sought the M. D.. 
rather grew worse Fortunately, 1 came along, and 
put a termination to the Terminal Atrophy, as well 
as the interminable bill, by showing him how to 
use the blotters.” — Smiles from Thomas are again in 
order. 

“Why, my dear Sir, so soft are they and so thick, 
that I can give you an exact impression of this key. 
Let me see.” 

He selects a key from the bunch and presses it in 
various ways on one of the blotters he had put aside. 
Then, holding it up, remarks : 

“That’s not so good. Let me try it on this.” 

He now presses the key on the other blotter put 
aside, and, scrutinizing it, remarks : 


260 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Ah ! this is better — a perfect impression, Sir” — 
showing it to Thomas. 

“I find no key to suit” — trying the bunch on the 
ink compartment, and then returning it to Thomas. 
“However, I shall be pleased to leave with you to- 
morrow a bottle of my peerless ‘Stygian Writing 
Fluid.’ 

“Glad to have met you, Sir” — as he speaks re- 
placing into the valise his things, and with them the 
blotter on which he had last impressed the key — 
“hope we may meet again, and thank you very 
kindly for your polite attention.” 

It was Thomas Ruffin’ s first experience with a high 
class peripatetic vendor, and, as Kramer turned to 
leave, his eye followed him with a sentiment of won- 
der, that one of such address and humor should not 
be above Pen and Ink Peddling. 

The “crony ower the way” being out, in a few mo- 
ments Sandy Johnson was back, to await at the Bank 
Thomas Ruffin’s return. Seeing through the window 
that Thomas had company, he remained outside. 
Naturally enough he was observant of the stranger; 
and directly had occasion to become an aroused spec- 
tator and watched him closely. The specific thing 
he was doing, he was unable to discover. But evi- 
dently he must be doing something or explaining 
something of more than ordinary interest, he thought, 
so energetic was his manner and so attentive and 
amused did Thomas seem to be; and when he saw he 
was about to leave, Sandy stepped to the door-way 
and fixed upon him his keen Scotch eyes as he 


Thomas Ruffin. 


261 


passed. Kramer noticed the scrutiny and made an 
evident effort to avoid it. Sandy thought this sus- 
picious and followed the man, who, seeing he was 
shadowed, mended his pace, and in the darkness 
soon became lost to Sandy, the condition of whose 
ulcered right leg was still an impediment to unusual 
exertion. Near the Bank , on his return, he came up 
with Friend Peale, and they entered together. Sal- 
utations over, Friend Peale’ s attention happened at 
the moment to be caught by the color of the blotters 
on ths table — so trivial is the circumstance that oft- 
times leads up to the gravest results — and he re- 
marked casually : 

“Why, Thomas, thee has fancy blotters !” 

“A peddler who has just gone, left ’em for trial, 
as being of superior quality.” 

“Hey! hey! And what does this mean?” ob- 
served Friend Peale, and in a tone of surprise; for, 
in running his fingers over the blotters, he noticed 
that one was damp, and he had taken it up and was 
examining it. “The blotter is damp! Strange it 
should be damp, Thomas ! — And what do I see on 
it?” he added, as he scrutinized the blotter more 
closely. “Bless my eyes ! if it isn’t the impression 
of a key!” he exclaimed with voice and look that 
startled his hearers; for Friend Peale remembered 
having recently seen a newspaper account of an at- 
tempted bank robbery by means of a key made from 
impressions on a dampened blotter. 

“Yes — so it is, Sir. And what of that ? The ped- 
dler said he had lost or mislaid the key to a com- 


262 


Thomas Ruffin. 


partment in his valise, and asked for my bunch, 
hoping to find one to fit; and ” 

“And thee lent him thy keys?” asked Friend 
Peale, energetically breaking in. 

“Yes, I did — and it was neighborly, not serious, I 
hope,” replied Thomas, wondering at Friend Peale’s 
manner. ‘ ‘And he had these blotters on the table, and 
made an impression of a key, to show their quality.” 

“What key is this, Thomas, whose impression I see?” 

“The key to the rear door of the Bank . — But why, 
Friend Peale, are you so serious ?” 

“Did he carry off an impression?” Friend Peale 
asked under evident excitement, and not heeding 
Thomas’ question. 

“I do not know, Sir. He did, if there be not two. 
He made two. — But what can be the matter ?” 

“There’s but one impression here,' Thomas,” said 
the Quaker, still unheeding the question addressed 
to him, and eagerly examining the blotters. 

“Then the peddler has the other.” 

“Then he’s a Burglar , Thomas Puffin, with de- 
signs on the Bank!” exclaimed Friend Peale. 

“A Burglar !” cried out the astounded Thomas. 

“Yea, I tell thee he’s a Burglar ! The moistened 
and prepared blotter — the selection of the key — the 
carrying off an impression — make a clear case. The 
papers give an account of a recent attempt of this 
kind. It’s the way of these villians — a trick to get 
a model. Here’s the entire key in all its parts — 
point, pin, collar, bit, ward, rabbit, -shaft, and bow ! 
The entire key !” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


263 


“What am I to do ?” asked Thomas with profound 
concern upon his countenance. 

“There’s but one thing thee can do. Inform Dal- 
guspin at once, that he may take measures to thwart 
the attempt. And I fear, my son, he’ll make a point 
against thee for allowing thyself to be taken in. — If 
thee could identify the man” — Friend Peale observ- 
ed, after a momentary pause of reflection — “the affair 
might make a turn in thy favor. — But that would be 
difficult” — reflecting again — “seeing he was in dis- 
guise, undoubtedly. — Is there aught about this ped- 
dler” (he added) “in those parts undisguisable — as 
eyes, or mouth, or teeth — by which thee would know 
him?” 

Thomas paused upon the reply — : 

“I can’t say there is.” 

“But I can” spoke up Sandy, who had been a 
deeply interested listener; and all eyes were turned 
upon the Scotchman. 

“I passed the chap” — he went -on — “at the door, 
and because he seemed to shun me ee, I spied him 
the closer. Somethin’ anent the mon I hed seen 
afore, and I hae been puzzlin’ me noddle to place 
him. It’s a’ clear noo. I hae been too aft at Dal- 
guspin’s to bopt him, na to ken his footman, Robbie 
Small, through a’ his disguises.” 

“Art sure, Alexander?” eagerly asked Friend Peale. 

“Sure’s Land’s eend is na John O’ Groats. His 
cast and play o’ countenance I hae watchit too aft 
to be deceived. I wad swear to the ideentity.” 

“And lean bring corroborating evidence,” chimed 


264 


Thomas Ruffin. 


in the Quaker exultingly; “for all thee says does 
well agree with what Dalguspin has told me, that his 
footman proves a Wild West dare-devil, in respect 
to whom he has entertained most serious fears. And 
what’s another weighty circumstance, that the fel- 
low intends this Friday next to leave for England — 
an information, that, with most evident satisfaction, 
as relieved from fears, Dalguspin gave me even yes- 
terday. Yea ! yea! I see it all. This is Wednesday 
eve. To-morrow the key’s to be made. To-morrow 
night the robbery. Next day the robber is to run. 
That’s his scheme.” 

“But we can pat a spoke in his wheel and beat him 
a’ round and clear through,” surmised Sandy. 

“Yea, we can and will, and all by ourselves. 
Through Thursday’s night we’ll watch the Bank's 
rear door, with officer of the law, and nab the fel- 
low in the very act. That’s our scheme. Then, be- 
fore Dalguspin we’ll honor thee, my son” — with a 
rallying pat on Thomas’ back — “as worthy of most 
praise in the affair, and thee will play winning cards 
for his favor.” 

“Thar’s a ‘pull’ upon a ‘puller,’ by the soul of 
St. Crispin,” jubilantly observed Sandy. 

“Yea, yea — thee’s in luck, Thomas, after all. If 
evil there must be, good it is for evil to yield ad- 
vantages to honest men. And now for the office of 
the Magistrate, to swear out a warrant against the 
footman — this night, this hour, this very minute; 
for scarce could thee do so to-morrow without risk 
of revealing too early our scheme to Dalguspin.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


black Isaac’s visitor. 

“What a fine, delightful, rainy day, Sir !” 

The reader is informed that this sentiment did not 
proceed from the gum-shoe man, but from Miss Kitty 
— a sentiment expressive of a banter to John Ruffin, 
as well as the actual impression of The Home’s 
hearty Housekeeper. 

Yes — let it rain in the interests of husbandry and 
trade; for isn’t the rain-fall lessening — the level of 
the lakes, lowering — the volume of the rivers, shrink- 
ing — and drouths becoming, more and more, a seri- 
ous national concern ? 

Yes — let it rain and lay the dust, the city man 
should say with an emphasis; for is not this dirty 
dust, made so rapidly, and whirled along the draught- 
creating streets so readily, and into one’s eyes so 
annoyingly, a most pronounced nuisance ? Then 
look at the scientific side. This horrid dust, with a 
percentage of output, originally, from diseased 
lungs and noses and other foul sources, that 
has become dessicated, then triturated beneath 
wheels and the heels of men and beasts in- 


266 


Thomas Muffin. 


numerable, may involve in its breathing — bar- 
ring the aesthetics of the thing — the deadly 
bacillus. And even though the bacillus that would 
kill us might be done up right by the guardian 
leucocyte, the lifting of this pulverised and irritat- 
ing filth and settling thereof upon the delicate 
Schneiderian membrane, originates, perhaps, 60 per 
cent, of the coJds, as the ordinary cold lies at the 
root of, perhaps, 60 per cent, of the one hundred 
strictly differentiated diseases to which human flesh 
is heir. Let it rain, therefore, and lay the dust, the 
dust, the dust. 

It is scarcely probable, however, that Miss Kitty 
took into her calculation the bacteriological consid- 
eration. No doubt but that she was one of those 
persons not uncommonly met with, whose nervous 
system is so poised as to experience a depression at 
the approach of a storm, with a rebound when the 
storm breaks — the rebound not a negative quality 
merely, but the outcome of certain atmospheric con- 
ditions of an exhilarating character accompanying 
falling weather. At all events, to cut the matter 
short, the simple fact was, that Miss Kitty felt bet- 
ter on rainy days, though her governmental cares 
and “quandaries” were increased from the inmates’ 
being kept within doors, and the muddy shoes of 
those who must go out would defile her well scrubbed 
floors. Hence her sentiment and rally to John Ruffin 
this early Thursday morning : 

“What a fine, delightful rainy day, Sir !” 

It was the day following the events related in the 


Tliomas Ruffin. 


267 


last chapter. Miss Kitty affirmed her weather view, 
seeing that J ohn Ruffin, the evening before, had ex- 
pressed the hope the day would be open, as he wish- 
ed to make a visit, and had asked Miss Kitty’s 
opinion touching the prospects. She allowed her 
bones and joints to return the answer — one far more 
reliable than the prophets of the street-corner or 
goods-box could give, and which, within limits, riv- 
alled in accuracy the weather-bureau forecasts of 
these more scientific latter days. With a storm 
brewing, Miss Kitty’s answer was unfavorable, and 
the state of the weather next morning justified her 
prediction. However, she now expressed the hope 
that the clouds might break away by the afternoon, 
in time for the visit. 

To John Ruffin it was a notable day, this particu- 
lar Thursday. It was the natal day of his first born, 
the son he had lost, and on whom his early hopes 
had been set. Among his treasure remnants he 
had two beautiful miniatures of his sons, oval in 
form and richly mounted in solid gold; and it had 
been his custom, ever since this elder son had been 
given up for lost, to take his miniature from its 
casket, in memoriam , once every year, on his birth- 
day. With the rolling on of time the commemora- 
tion grew in interest, and finally took the form of a 
somewhat solemn ceremonial. At the hour when his 
son first saw the light, John Ruffin would enter his 
room (which had been duly prepared), bring forth 
the miniature from its casket and covering, and com- 
mune with the departed. Nor did he forget the 


268 


Thomas Ruffin. 


commemoration, though it could not be done so for- 
mally, in these latter days of affliction. The de- 
voted hour was between 7 and 8 in the evening, and 
the thoughts connected therewith belong rather to 
the chapter following, which opens at the 7th hour. 

Another consideration, for the moment making 
this day special, was John Ruffin's resolution to see 
Dalguspin touching Thomas. For days and weeks 
the thought had been pressing. Already had he set 
apart this day for the visit, and when the morning 
came he was confirmed in the resolution by Thomas’ 
failure to bid him good night the evening before (an 
unusual occurrence), or to send an explaining word. 
It was alJ due, he was persuaded, to being so over- 
worked, and he would give the Banker his mind. 

The fact was that Thomas had called. But it was 
very late. The candle at the window had burned 
out, his Father evidently w r as asleep, and he 
would not disturb him. There had been difficulty 
in securing the services of a magistrate, to issue the 
warrant against Robert. The first one sought was 
at the theatre. The second, at a feast. The third, 
indeed, at home — but there were preliminaries; and 
by the time the paper had been executed, and Friend 
Peale and Sandy and Thomas had fully talked over 
at the Bank the scheme of capture and arranged de- 
tails, the lateness of the hour prevented John Ruffin’s 
getting the usual good-night. 

Thomas Ruffin’s appearance and manner at this 
time really were calculated to breed concern in one 
less anxious for his welfare than his Father. The 


Thomas Ruffin. 


269 


latter was in error touching the main cause. It was 
not now, or not so much, overwork. Since the in- 
ception of the scheme of robbery, with involvement 
of young Ruffin, Dalguspin had turned artfully to- 
wards his clerk. It was a feature of his malignant 
character to approach the victim with a velvet tread. 
The half dollar was added to the weekly wage, as 
has been stated. Nor was Thomas kept now quite 
so long at the desk, the Banker himself sharing what 
had been his undivided work. And Black Isaac’s 
demeanor, too, was less churlish — nay, even kindly. 
The raised spirits growing out of the prospect of de- 
liverance through the robbery, naturally affected his 
general behavior; and as to Thomas Ruffin, in par- 
ticular, he realised it was the proper thing to allay, 
or try to allay, the suspicion with which his keen 
eye saw he was regarded by him. He was not effus- 
ive, as at the first. That would have defeated his ob- 
ject very probably, he felt; for he had learned to 
recognize a greater power of discernment in his clerk, 
than in the beginning he had given him credit for. 
But there was a general let up, and Black Isaac had 
reason to be satisfied with the effect of the manoeuvre. 
Thomas protested to his Father that the situation at 
the Bank had improved; but the latter would not 
listen to it, in view of what was before his very eyes, 
that Thomas daily was falling back; and when 
Thomas drew attention to his getting to The 
Home earlier, John Ruffin felt that his son strained 
and rushed through the days, just to make it seem 
to him he was less burdened. 


270 


Thomas Ruffin . 


That Thomas Ruffin was now unhappy and droop- 
ing, was evident, and for the cause we need not go far. 
There is a sin (it has been observed), as common as it is 
secretive — the first to be seen in onr fellows, the last 
to discover in ourselves — whose peculiar deformity 
lies in its banqnetting upon the misfortunes of 
others, fattening on their follies and falls — a sin, 
that condemns one to be soured in his associates, 
unless they are inferior, without gifts or attractions 
— and which, many a time and oft, involves the 
blackest little lies, as when, under the pressure of 
our social customs, we are constrained to congratu- 
late another on some godsend, whose happening 
really grates upon us; or commiserate him for some 
misfortune, with which secretly we are very well 
pleased — the odious sin of Envy ! It has its grada- 
tions, in its extremes involving hate, rancor, revenge. 

Now, if Thomas Ruffin morally was much above 
the average young man, still he was flesh and blood, 
he was human; and when, a certain evening, he 
might have been seen sitting communing in his gar- 
ret room, eyes half closed, upper eylids drawn down 
over the eyeballs, eyebrows knitted, expression deep 
and intense, the physiognomist would have read in 
that countenance not only a sentiment of envy, but 
that the object of envy was mentally there before him. 
Undoubtedly, that object was the florist. We. will 
not say he really hated the florist. But we nun lit tie 
risk touching violation of the truth in declaring that 
his sentiments towards him were not of the pleasing 
variety. Every word Sister J essica had either spoken 


Tliomas Ruffin. 


271 


or written respecting the florist, he had weighed most 
carefully. This florist was “our friend” — ours, 
Amy’s, as well as the Sister’s, and Amy’s especially, 
he must be, of course, he thought. Then, he fur- 
nished gratuitously the lovely flowers, because he 
was “ interested ” in their purposes. Why interested % 
He had never seen his Father. If he knew aught 
concerning him, it could have been only through 
Amy. And must not any interest he might have in 
the object these flowers were meant to serve, spring 
from a personal interest in Amy ? — Then he had a 
decidedly disagreeable sense of the Sister’s having 
spoken of the florist as a youny man. And further, 
since the interview with Sister Jessica, he had been 
diligent in inquiries respecting the general complex- 
ion of florists, and disabused of an impression. He 
had discovered that the florist, in large cities, may 
be a representative of wealth, character, and posi- 
tion; and if this particular florist was not a man of 
means at least, how could he afford, he considered, 
to give' away so many rare and costly blooms, even 
in the line of roses alone ? 

Out of all this grew a picture, from which Thomas 
Ruffin was unable, as though dominated by a spell, 
to withdraw his gaze, yet oppressing him with heavy, 
wearing thoughts. On this certain evening, when 
we have attempted a photograph, a Moss Rose was 
in his button-hole. It caught his eye. He looked 
down upon it a moment— dallied with it a moment — 
then drew it forth, and tossed it upon the table. 
Had it become too faded, to be worn ? Or did it now 
have other associations ? 


272 


Thomas Ruffin. 


To preserve consistency with tliat surrender of a 
hope he had made so magnanimously, he deceived 
himself in the reflection, that all this heart-ache was 
what a relative naturally should feel. His anxieties 
were all on account of his Cousin. The florist might 
not be a man of character, or such a character as was 
worthy of Amy, and she might be throwing herself 
away. And Thomas would worry and torment him- 
self almost to death — till, in a moment of clearer 
reason, the vision would perish, aud the florist, the 
mist about him dissolving, would stand out simply 
a friend with a kindly heart. 

But visions after this kind would be reforming 
and harassing him constantly. Unhappy days they 
were. He was sore distressed and could not see the 
end, and the effect was palpably visible. The rapid 
fluctuations in his mind, now despairing, now hoping 
(for it was all a delusion, his giving up Amy) — so 
perplexed and tossed about continually in contempla- 
ting the mystery and the possibilities of her seclusion 
— the total absence of calm, settled thought — and, 
not least, being cut off, by the pledge he had given, 
from counsellor and comforter — all this brought 
down upon him, indeed, a heavy hand. If naturally 
frail in apjjearance, the axe and maul of early days 
had given him a fairly sturdy frame. But the limit 
of endurance had been passed. He was failing and 
he felt it. His appetite was gone. The restored half 
dollar to the weekly wage, with the liberal pay 
Sister Jessica had given his Father recently for some 
small jobs, enabled him to provide for himself some- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


273 


wliafc better. Still, he could not eat, so to speak — 
neither could he sleep. His work languished— now 
a miserable drudgery. Of diminished volume, it 
yet used him up. He bought an Elixir which he saw 
advertised as covering his case — but without avail. 
In his garret room lie was often in tears. Before his 
Father it was impossible to assume his usual degree 
of cheerfulness. Scarce could he refrain, time and 
again, from breaking down and disclosing all, at the 
sight of his Father’s distress. True, within the past 
twenty-four hours a change had occurred. The dis- 
covery of the scheme to rob the Bank, with the lead- 
ing part he bore therein, was sufficient of itself to 
stimulate him to a high degree. Then, as outcomes, 
he would have a “pull” upon Dalguspin. His good 
will he would firmly secure. The apprehensions of 
foul play that had been so disturbing, would all be re- 
moved. His pay would be increased very probably. 
And certainly, his relations with the Banker would 
be smoother at the least to the end of the term. All 
this made a current of fresh quickening thought, 
and so Thomas was roused up, and felt a great deal 
better, and looked a great deal brighter. But his 
Father had not seen him since this change. As for 
him, he was in a tumult of fears for his son 
— felt it was all attributable to over- work — and had 
settled on this day to see the Banker. 

From remarks dropped by Thomas, John Ruffin 
had learnt the street and number of Black Isaac’s 
residence, as well as the time when he would be 
most likely at home. He had learnt, in addition, 


274 


Thomas Ruffian. 


there was a ’Bus line (a walk would have been too 
much for him) but a square off, that ran on this street; 
and he had put by pennies enough to pay fare for 
himself and Sabina, whom he would have to accom- 
pany him. 

Soon after midday the rain ceased. By 4 o’clock 
the clouds had broken fairly, and John Ruffin, with 
Sabina, started forth, ostensibly for a walk. He 
now informed the servant-woman of his purpose, 
and she, instructed to respect his wishes scrupu- 
lously, made no objection — though never had she 
gone out with him near so far. 

The ’ Bus soon filled with a typical lot. J ohn Ruffin 
happened to be seated not at all to his liking; for a 
frousy old German woman, just from the green-gro- 
cer’s, had squeezed in beside him, her basket heavily 
topped with onions, now directly under John Ruffin’s 
nose and towards which ancient and wholesome tuber 
he cherished a repugnance as marked as that of John 
Randolph for the wild varieties and their sturdy fe- 
cundity — whereof, it is said, he once uttered the 
absolutely exhaustive malediction, that they should 
be cut up by the roots, burned, and exposed to hard 
frost. 

There was pressure, also, on Sabina’s side, from a 
very fat man, who, either to compress and ostensi- 
bly diminish his avoirdupois, or to support it, was 
so strapped up in small tights and close-fitting 
clothes generally, that an unusual amount of blood 
and tissue, even for him, had been pressed up into 
his neck and face. He seemed, too, to be as uncom- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


275 


fortably located as John Ruffin. The cause appar- 
ently was in Sabina — whether due to the negro (as 
such), or to her squint, or something else about her, 
we are unable to inform the reader. More than 
once he looked round at Sabina in an annoyed sort 
of way; and Sabina, more than once, cut an eye back 
at him, as if agog to bestow a guffaw upon his very 
stuffy, ill-at-ease aspect. 

Having had occasion to notice two of the occu- 
pants, we cannot be so impolite as not to glance, 
at least, at the others.— Just over -against John 
Ruffin was a fashionably dressed young lady at- 
tended by two lights of swelldom, one on each side, 
dudes and dudine — she sounding her vowels in the 
broad style heard in the drawing-room of the 400, 
and they looking sweet upon her with eyes givingno 
promise of any message to men. — Across from the 
fat man was a vulgar city woman, of the Brown 
Jones and Robinson set, pointing out to her country 
cousin the mansions of distinguished and wealthy 
citizens, the public buildings, the monuments, and 
other objects of interest, in voice and manner glib 
and vain, as if she held a joint ownership in all she 
described. — At the upper end of the ’Bus sat side 
by side a country-man and a city-man, with phy- 
siques characteristic of their respective localities — 
the former a strapping, brown-skinned, hearty look- 
ing fellow — the latter showing short sight, narrow 
chest, weedy legs, and flat feet. — And opposite these 
a veritable wooden girl, with small head, long face, 
fleshy saddle nose, far apart eyes, and a little mouth 


276 


Thomas Ruffin. 


with lips ajar. She sat at the extremity of the seat, 
in the angle formed by the side and front of the ’Bus, 
and so still and expressionless, that, but for the 
wink, she might have been taken for a dummy, be- 
longing to a passenger. 

The ’Bus at length reached the street number of 
destination, the driver was signalled, and John Ruffin 
and Sabina alighted. The latter was to remain at 
the street-corner until John Ruffin came out. 

A maid-servant answered the bell. Robert, it ap- 
pears, was absent. Probably he was at the rendez- 
vous — the dim little room on a back street near the 
Bank (the “cracksman” had rented it for the occa- 
sion), where the disguises were kept and the confer- 
ences conducted. Or, may be, he was off meditating 
the critical part he was about to play. Already had 
he received from the “cracksman” the roll of bills 
which by 8 p. m. he was to endeavor to secrete be- 
tween the mattresses of John Ruffin’s bed, and on 
the success of which attempt the consummation of 
the scheme that night wholly depended. It was a 
much more difficult job than that connected with the 
key. Here he had made and spread a net before- 
hand, and Thomas Ruffin walked right into it. There 
was nothing prearranged touching the present job. 
He had been instructed that John Ruffin was deaf, 
and “off” somewhat. But how far “off?” In the 
course of liis extended experiences he had discover- 
ed these “off” characters are sometimes very suspi- 
cious, and even sharp. He had settled upon “Grim,” 
as the name to bear — in his disguise representing a 


Thomas Ruffin. 


277 


workman — and bringing a chair to be bottomed. 
For the rest he trusted to mother wit and the chap- 
ter of accidents. Noals by this time felt confident 
of his man’s trustworthiness; but, to be doubly sure, 
and to gratify Dalguspin, besides, he had given him 
this second job, instead of undertaking it himself. 
The first had been conducted so cleverly and with 
such complete success, that he entertained no doubt 
whatever, that Bob would bamboozle John Ruffin 
and clear the way for their scheme to-night, and 
hence had an appointment to meet Dalguspin at this 
very hour for finally talking over the whole matter 
and completing some minor details. 

John Ruffin was received by the maid servant. 
Her announcement of “a strange old man,” instead 
of Noals, who was expected eagerly, was a dual an- 
noyance to Black Isaac. But the visitor was in the 
drawing-room, and all Black Isaac could do (as he 
resolved to do), was to get rid of him as speedily as 
possible. 

“Who are you, Sir?” he demanded in a tone of 
irritation and insolence, as he entered the room and 
saw before him a strange old man, indeed, yet evi- 
dently with gentlemanly indications. 

“Tammie’ s Father,” quietly replied John Ruffin, 
apparently not at all disconcerted by Black Isaac’s 
blustering manner. 

“And who’s Tammie, pray?” 

“Don’t you know, Tammie?” 

“Tell me what you want quick, or get out of 
here.” 


278 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Why, Tammie’ s your clerk.’ ’ said John Ruffin, 
completely at ease. 

Black Isaac regarded his visitor a moment. Never 
before had he laid eyes on John Ruffin. The visitor 
was something more than he had expected to find. 
Certain relations existed. Perhaps his manner was 
a trifle less rude — still, he spoke roughly : 

“Well, what’s wanting? — hurry up.” 

“Work’s killing Tammie.” 

“And so you think I’m a brute,” observed Black 
Isaac, resuming all his swagger. 

“I’m thinking Tammie may have to leave,” was 
the self-composed rejoinder, though, had Black Isaac 
looked more narrowly, he might have seen a light 
beginning to kindle in John Ruffin’s eyes. 

“The fellow leave me! Teaching him the busi- 
ness, too ! Pish ! Thankless puppy !” 

The last expression having been uttered in a low- 
ered tone of scorn, John Ruffin’s dull ears did not 
catch it, or unquestionably there would have been a 
scene. He was a type of the Southern gentleman 
under the old regime — generous, hospitable, courtly, 
high-strung men, and* too proud not to be brave. 
Withal, John Ruffin personally was no wise lacking 
in native manliness. If but a wreck of his former 
self, the old spirit was not dead. Where Thomas 
was involved, he was ready to dare Beelzebub him- 
self; and in his state of irritation against the Banker 
undoubtedly would have resented then and there 
his contemptuous remark, had he heard it. Though 
he failed to catch the insult, it happened that just 


Thomas Ruffin. 


279 


as Black Isaac finished speaking an insect of some 
kind, as John Ruffin supposed, pitched on his right 
cheek and bit. It may have been a neuralgic shoot. 
At all events, there was a sharp sudden pain, and 
the old gentleman, with a jerk, raised his right hand, 
which carried a small light cane, to rub the part 
affected. As he did so, the cane, borne aloft, shook 
ominously near Black Isaac’s head, who, as cowardly 
as he was cruel, and supposing his visitor was re- 
senting “puppy,” dodged and sprang away. 

“Something stung my face, and I raised my hand 
to rub it,” observed John Ruffin. “Don’t be afraid” 
— patronizingly taken, though not so meant. 

“Afraid !” went off the Banker , chagrined at the 
demonstration he had made, and advancing as he 
spoke. “Afraid of you , you old simpleton!” 

The cane-hand and cane suddenly went up again, 
and Black Isaac again dodged back from the 
blows, as John Ruffin remarked : 

“There’s the sting again” — rubbing the cheek. 

“ Afraid , Sir !” thundered Dalguspin, doubly mor- 
tified, and again advancing his step in a menacing 
manner. “If you dare hint again the possibility, 
I’ll ring up the servants and have you put out, 
Sir!” 

“ You're not afraid, but I am for Tammie,” replied 
John Ruffin, quite at ease, but visibly rousing. 
“You’ve promised and- promised less time and more 
pay, and he has been working on, waiting and 
waiting ” 


280 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“And so yon come here to call me a liar,” broke 
in Black Isaac in a small fury. 

“No. But if you say you can’t do better, Tammie 
leaves right away. He has promised me to leave 
any time I say so. And he has got a place, he tells 
me, any time he chooses to take it. He’s worried to 
death, and getting poorer every day; and I say, if 
you say you can’t do better, I’ll go right down to 
the Bank this very minute and take him home — 
thafs what I’ll do.” 

Black Isaac recognized the absolute necessity to 
tack about. He thought John Ruffin alluded to his 
son’s supposed hold upon him in the matter of 
Cameron’s note. Be that as it may, there must not 
be any disturbance for the next few hours at least. 
Thomas Ruffin must be at the Bank to-night as usual. 
This was enough, even if he had not now marked the 
lire blazing up in his visitor’s eyes. He, therefore, 
replied, in a manner the most suave at his command : 

“I beg you, Mr. Ruffin, to pardon my rudeness. 
It’s my way, Mr. Ruffin. I am free to own my in- 
justice to your son. He’s a faithful fellow; and I 
give you my solemn word, Sir, to make good within 
a week all I promised, fair time and better pay.” 

Overjoyed, the old gentleman shambled up — 
seized Dalguspin’s right hand in both of his — shook 
and shook it most vigorously — and the little cane, 
again borne aloft, vibrated viciously near Dalgus- 
pin’s head, which kept dodging about, as John 
Ruffin cried out his warm acknowledgements : 

“O thank you! thank you! thank you! Mr. — 


Thomas Ruffin. 


281 


Mr. — ” (for the moment unable to recall the name) 
“Mr. Gusdalpin” — and then giving it a twist. 

With the firm grasp of gratitude John Ruffin kept 
up the handshaking and incidental caning in a man- 
ner so energetic that Black Isaac was constrained to 
expostulate, and that, too — under the stress of the 
physical agitation — in a species of quavers, all the 
while busy dodging away from the blows : 

“I- I’ve n-no objection to h-hand s-shake, Mr. 
R-Ruffin, b-but t-there’s n-no n-use s-s-shaking 
c-c-cane, Sir.” 

The sound of the door- bell caused John Ruffin to 
release Black Isaac’s hand — which he did with a 
rousing 

“Thank you, Sir !” 

“There’s a visitor, Mr. Ruffin, whom at this hour 
I am engaged to see by special appointment. I must 
now ask you to please excuse me.” 

Bidding the Banker good evening, John Ruffin 
turned and took a step towards the door. Then 
turned towards Black Isaac, face beaming : 

“And you’re going to promote Tanimie?” 

“Certain as the continuance of the Bank itself, 
Mr. Ruffin. He ! he ! he !” 

“God bless ” 

The door-bell rang again cutting off the sentence, 
and John Ruffin turned and took another step to- 
wards the door. Then turned about : 

“And within a week, Mr. Banker ?” 

“Within a week, Mr. Ruffin, if the Bank doesn’t 
break. He! he! he!” 


282 


Thomas .Ruffin. 


“God bless yon a thou — ” 

But before he could complete the numerical ex- 
pression of the blessing, the meddlesome bell rang 
again, and John Ruffin, turning, made yet another 
step towards the door. Then turned : 

“Tammie prays for — ” 

He was doomed, however, to be beaten by the bell; 
for it’s ring again broke in, and John Ruffin, turn- 
ing hastily, took yet another step still towards the 
door. Then turned about, and was in the act of 
speaking, when the bell, responding to a vicious 
pull, rang violently, and the old gentleman, giving 
it up, smacked his hand to Dalguspin and precipi- 
tately shambled out, as the tardy maid ushered in 
the impatient Noals. 

He found Sabina at the corner, and they went 
back as they had come. The visit had been a 
complete success. He had glad tidings for his son. 
Should he tell him to-night, or to-morrow \ He would 
wait and let him know it all just after breakfast, so 
that he could go off to his work full of good fresh 
morning news. John Ruffin felt and looked bright-’ 
ened up. And nature had brightened up, too, as if 
in sympathy; for the day, that had opened with a 
down-pour, was closing magnificently. The sun had 
just set; but the long narrow stretches of stationary 
curl cloud, focussed at the point of going down, 
were bathed in his beams, and spread out, over the 
entire western heavens, a great fan of brilliant soft 


Thomas Huffin. 


283 


light, ribbed with converging bands of crimson 
effulgence. A gorgeous American sunset. 

They reached The Home in good time. Sister 
Jessica had called, and, as usual, had left some 
beautiful flowers. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The best laid schemes o’ mice and men 
Gang aft a-gley. — Burns. 

It was nigh the same hour, at which John Ruffin re- 
turned to The Home, as just related, that Friend Peale 
and Sandy Johnson called at the Bank for a final 
conference with Thomas touching the watch for the 
burglar. They all thought it out of question to sup- 
pose the robbery would be attempted until at least 
towards midnight. It was argued that Robert Small 
must have a confederate, since, in case the Watch- 
man could not be enticed off, it would be necessary 
to overpower him — that one alone could not do this 
without great hazard of detection — and that such an 
expert as Small had shown himself to be, would not 
run the risk of discovery from a minimum of dis- 
turbance, not to speak of observation, until the 
streets, comparatively at least, should be deserted. 
This made the matter clear enough, without consider- 
ing that Small’s domestic duties at Dalguspin’s did 
not close until after 11; and that from that hour, with 
four of them on guard — including the special officer 
detailed — they could put under close surveillance 
the front door, as well as the rear. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


285 


Thomas informed them that extra work would de- 
tain him till at least near 10 o’clock; and then he must 
go to The Home to speak to his Father — who had 
not seen or heard from him for two days, and was 
most anxious, he knew, and would keep supper 
waiting till midnight — and to let him know, more- 
over, it was necessary he should remain away at the 
Bank all this night. They parted with the under- 
standing to call again at the half hour to 10. 

By that hour Thomas had hastened through his 
work. Friend Peale and Sandy Jolmson returned 
on time. William, the watchman, Thomas informed 
them, had been sent for by Dalguspin, but would be 
back anon. A few moments later Thomas, through 
the window, espied the special officer who was to 
meet them on the corner at 10, and went out, with 
Friend Peale and Sandy, to speak with him. As 
they were engaged together talking and looking 
over the warrant under the lamp’s light, thirty feet 
perhaps from the door (to avoid possible suspicion 
the conference was outside), William — as supposed 
to be — was seen to enter the Bank; and Thomas, call- 
ing to him presently from the doorway, that lie was 
going to The Home, to return within an hour, started 
off with Friend Peale and Sandy, who, having ample 
time to spare, proposed to accompany him — the offi- 
cer being instructed, out of abundant caution, to 
have an eye meanwhile upon the rear door. 

In behalf of morality generally, and of the Ruffins 
individually, it is matter for regret — the degree 
whereof must tally with the interest this narrative 


286 


Thomas Ruffin. 


may have raised — that we are compelled to record 
the absolute failure of the scheme to capture the 
burglar. It was well laid, and the Peale party 
were sanguine as of a sure thing, but, like the fore- 
sight of the famous “mousie” whose nest and nest- 
lings were disrupted by the cruel coulter, the affair 
went “a-gley.” To write it down otherwise is not 
X>ossible. True, the story-teller, ordinarily, is a 
despot over his characters, holding the absolute 
power of life and death, and his imaginative events, 
within the limits of probability, he may draw and 
marshal as he likes. But this narrative has a broad 
basis of fact, and it must advance on the lines that 
have been laid. 

Nor do such miscarriages involve an arraignment 
of Providence. Taking the mass of men and con- 
sidering the course of events, we see that virtue is 
so often rewarded and vice punished, as to demon- 
strate that the Deity is the patron of the one, and 
enemy of the other. And touching the individual, 
could we follow out his entire career into and 
through the Beyond, assuredly we would perceive 
absolute justice to be his portion. But, restricting 
the eye to his span of life here, it is no less true, 
that Providence does not always visibly aid the 
right. 

To resume the thread of our story: Friend Peale 
and Sandy Johnson made a liesurely return, being 
full of talk touching the capture — among other cir- 
cumstances, Sandy congratulating himself upon the 
prospect of saving his “wee pile,” he having made 


Thomas Ruffin. 


287 


recently some small deposits with Dalguspin; yet, for 
no further reason, it may be added, than to show his 
animus towards “Mr. Tam mas” and have business 
occasions to chat him. Meanwhile, Noals had done 
his work effectually. In William’s rig he entered 
the Bank' s front door at a quarter to 10. With keys 
to safe and drawers in hand and the Bank already 
plucked, five minutes sufficed to leave a burglar’s 
marks. Robert Small was on guard for him outside, 
and signaling the coast clear, the special officer 
being at the Bank' s rear, Noals passed out as he had 
gone in, and, handing Robert his money, pressed on 
him to speed to the rendezvous, doff disguise, and 
with all diligence make for home, and let the 
watchman see him there on duty, if possible. In 
every detail it was a complete success. Robert was 
on time to show William out, to whose inquiry, as 
he left the door, he gave the hour as being twenty 
minutes past 10. 

Some thirty or forty minutes had passed with 
Friend Peale and Sandy, when, having reached 
the point on the street opposite the Bank , they 
were thunderstruck by the watchman’s rushing forth 
(accompanied by a jiatrolman, whom, happening to 
be near the door, William had hurried in to witness 
the state of affairs) with resounding cries of 

“Thieves ! Robbers !” 

They rushed over and saw in truth that the 
Bank had been robbed. To the Quaker’s in- 
quiry of the watchman, why he had not raised 
the hue and cry sooner, William replied that 


288 


Thomas Ruffin. 


lie had reached the Bank just a moment before. 
And when Friend Peale declared that himself, with 
Sandy Johnson and Thomas Ruffin, could witness 
his having entered the Bank at a quarter to 10, and 
that Thomas Ruffin tow him in charge and bespoke 
him before he left for his Father’s at The Home, 
William swore with a great oath it was not so— that 
if any one had entered the Bank at that hour, it 
must have' been the robber — that he was then at the 
Banker’s house — and that Robert Small, who show- 
ed him out and gave him the time, could swear he 
left the door at twenty minutes past ten. 

By this time, though late, a number of persons 
had been drawn together by the outcry and report — 
among them Noals (known to be a close friend to the 
Banker), who said Dalguspin must be informed at 
once, and then they would go to The Home, to see 
what light the clerk might be able to throw upon 
such a piece of devilment — that under all the circum- 
stances, as they had just heard them, he ought to 
know something about it. Off, therefore, he started, 
accompanied by the Watchman, leaving the patrol- 
man to guard the Bank. 

As for Friend Peale and Sandy, they were in 
a maze, not knowing what to think or say. A 
darkness suddenly had come down. The former 
observed to Sandy, that his swans certainly had 
proven geese, touching the supposed identity of 
Robert Small and the robber— that the indirect and 
unwitting testimony, involved in the Watchman’s 
statement was conclusive. Sandy made no reply— 


Thomas Ruffin. 


289 


only shook his head. As for the hint thrown out by 
Noals, that Thomas Ruffin might be implicated, they 
tossed it to the winds. True, they had noticed, it 
was remarked by each, that Thomas recently had 
been in distress, brooding over some trouble and 
losing sx>irit, and had declined, too, friendly over- 
tures inviting confidence. But that he should have 
had any hand in this matter, was not to be thought 
of — unless, under some great pressure (whereof they 
were ignorant) and temporary derangement and irre- 
sponsibility, he possibly might have been inveigled. 
They would await the coming of Dalguspinand party, 
and accompany them to The Home. The mere break- 
ing in upon John Ruffin at this late hour would be 
serious. And then with such an inquiry, not to men- 
tion charge, touching his son ! There might be 
circumstances of the gravest kind and vitally need- 
ing their aid. 

The reader must now be transferred to John 
Ruffin’s room, to learn the course of events there 
subsequent to his return from the visit to the 
Banker. 

Aware of the sj)ecial character of the day, Miss 
Kitty had taken extra pains in providing his supper, 
and Sabina had smuggled on the plates an unusually 
goodly portion for “Mr. Thomas.” The table was 
set for two, but John Ruffin refrained from eating. 
What was keeping Thomas ? He had thought he 
surely would be in early this evening. He had not 
seen him since Tuesday, and then for a moment, 
when he hurried to The Home, to say “good-night.” 


290 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Should he go to the Bank ? But then he might miss 
his son on the way, and the latter would be alarmed at 
finding him out. No, he had better wait. If any thing 
had happened, some word would have been sent. 
And perhaps it was too early for him. He would 
come presently. So the dishes were placed in wait- 
ing near the fire. And then all at once John Ruffin 
began to bestir himself as it came upon him, that he 
was about to forget the day and the houy. 

Opening a drawer, he took therefrom a casket. It 
contained the miniature of his first-born. A beautiful 
specimen of art it was, richly set in solid gold, and 
painted when his son was a little boy. He opened 
the casket, removed the covering from its contents, 
and placed the miniature upon the table. Next, he 
knelt reverently in devotion — rose and seated him- 
self at the table — and, taking the miniature of this 
lost son, dwelt upon it. — What heart- wrung thoughts 
such pictures of childhood have called up in many a 
parent under circumstances like those in which we 
find this broken, sad-eyed man — picture of some 
dear son, who went out never more to return! It 
takes us back years and years, when he was a pure 
child on our knee, before the world had touched 
him. What hopes gathered around him then ! In 
what dreams did we forecast his career ! If he grew 
up wild and disappointing, he was our own and 
dear to us still. Perhaps it was to break away from 
those who had led him off, that he would go forth, 
with high resolve to make his mark. How vividly 
we recall that parting hour ! What heart ache lay 


Thomas Ruffin. 


291 


hidden beneath the smile put forward to encourage 
him! And how we strained and strained the eye to 
catch the last glimpse ! And now he is lost to view ! 
The great hard world has closed inexorably over 
him. Oh ! what darkness then ! What tears of bitter- 
ness ! 

And in process of time came another sinking hour, 
when the tardy news came, all too late to reach him, 
that he was about to be no more ! Striving in vain 
against fate, too proud to return with such a record, 
he had gone down in the struggle far off from us, 
among strangers ! 

It was a current of feeling after this kind that 
found expression in the following soliloquy, as John 
Ruffin gazed upon the miniature : 

“My first-born! The beginning of my strength! 
Lost ! Lost ! — ’Tis his very image. How innocent and 
sweet he looks here, as a little child ! I remember 
this little jacket he used to wear — and this ring upon 
his finger, I remember so well the day I put it on.” 

He pauses in tears. 

“What a fine fellow he was, so bright and hand- 
some ! How tenderly I watched over him ! What 
pride I took in him ! How thankfully I thought of 
him as the staff and comfort in my old age !” 

He pauses in meditation. 

“But he grew wayward and roving and would go 
off. Ah-h ! that day he left us, that bitter, bitter 
day! How well I recall it i I can’t recollect what 
happens now, but I recollect that. ’Twas a sweet 
day in May, full of sunshine and warmth — so unlike 


292 


Thomas Ruffin. 


my darkened wretched heart. A smile was on his 
face, and he spoke so hopefully of what he meant to 
do— poor fellow !” 

Again he pauses in tears. 

“He stood on deck waving adieu, and we stood 
straining our eyes till the boat rounded the river’s 
bend; and as he became lost to view, it seemed as if 
some evil spirit had come down, and closed around 
him, and gathered him to itself, and parted him 
from me forever !” 

John Ruffin breaks down* completely, weeping 
aloud. Then dwells in silence on the miniature, and 
becomes more composed after his tears. 

“At first he wrote often and in such high spirits. 
He had troubles, we heard, but he never spoke of 
them. By and bye letters came less and less fre- 
quent, and hope seemed to be going out. Then short 
hurried notes, far apart, saying only he was well. 
At last no letters, and we could hear nothing from 
others !” 

He again pauses in tears, which end in an outburst 
of passionate grief : 

“Is my boy dead, my first-born % Or has evil come 
to him — has he gone down, low, low, low — and 
ashamed to write % O God ! 0 God ! if he be living 
yet, give him back in my day of trouble, and let me 
see his face before I die !” 

Touching this soliloquy we have to observe: John 
Ruffin spoke generally in a slow broken way from 
difficulty both in comprehending and in expressing 
ideas. If the above (well conceived and smoothly 


Thomas Ruffin. 


293 


uttered) — as well as other passages in tliis narrative 
— should seem out of place in a daft man, let it be 
remembered, that John Ruffin’s intelligence, while 
weakened, had not been destroyed. There were, 
moreover, mental ebbings and flowings — at times a 
combination, a strange combination, of shrewdness 
and the baldest simplicity. Again, his general con- 
dition really was improving; and his mind always 
acted better, too, when turned strongly, as here, 
upon some definite point of interest in the far away 
past. And in regard tp this particular soliloquy, it 
Was in no small degree mechanical. That is, while 
the sentiment' was fully there, the course of thought 
and expression — the hopes that had centred in this 
lost son, the lamentations, the supplication for his 
return — had all been repeated substantially, year 
after year, on his hallowed birth-day. 

John Ruffin was about to replace the miniature, 
when Sabina entered, to say a man had come with a 
chair. In momentary expectation of Thomas, he 
would have turned the man away, in all liklihood, 
if his and Sabina’s ’Bus fares had not exhausted his 
pennies. So he told Sabina to bring the man round 
to his door, supposing he would be detained by him 
but a second. Presently the man came in, a rough 
looking workman. As he entered he was seen to 
reel and tremble, and, drawing a flask, drank from it. 

“Who are you ? Drunk?” John Ruffin sharply 
asked, offended at the man’s apparent condition. 

“Grim — John Grim. No drunk. Got touch o’ 


294 Thomas Ruffin. 

the staggers. Have’em sometimes. This stuff’ll set 
me up.” 

“There’s a glass and a pitcher of water,” said 
John Ruffin who was partial to grog, pointing to the 
things on the table, and speaking in a kindly voice, 
the atonement of conscience for the unmerited im- 
putation. 

“No water, thank ye. I’m like the fellah who 
said, no prohibiton in liis’n.” 

“What do you want ?” 

“A jam-up bottom to this here cheer here. I hear 
ye’re cheap and puts up a good job, and them’s the 
terms as suit me to a T.” 

“There’s my work,” pointing to a specimen chair. 

“Snug job,” remarked Grim, as he examined the 
chair. — “Yer price? Mind, I’m poor.” 

“That’s no disgrace.” 

“No disgrace, but it’s onhandy. — Yer price ?” 

“Half dollar.” 

“Well, twis’ me out a bottom like this here, and 
the money’s yourn. And it’s worth a dollar, too, 
and here’s the ready money cash down,” placing in 
John Ruffin’s hand a new bright silver dollar. 

John Ruffin really was delighted. It was such a 
nice looking coin, and so timely. He would give it 
to Thomas to-night, instead of putting it into his 
own purse. 

Grim, who had been eyeing the room, as if for a 
purpose, looked up at the print on the left wall, 
with the remark : 


Thomas Ruffin. 295 

“I’ll take a look at yer picturs. Mighty fond o’ 
picturs.” 

John Ruffin’s good-will having been secured by 
the dollar, he made no objection. Grim, therefore, 
moved round the room apparently giving thought 
to the prints, but furtively watching John Ruffin, 
whose back was towards him. As he reached the 
bed, over which hung a print, with a quick glance 
at his man and sudden movement he drew out a 
roll of bills and was about to thrust it between the 
mattresses, when the old gentleman turned towards 
him and unconsciously frustrated the attempt. 

“Been in the city long?” asked Grim, seating 
himself on the bed. 

John Ruffin replied with a negative movement of 
the head. 

“Been twistin’ shucks long ?” 

John Ruffin remained silent. 

“Reckon not, old friend. Yer fingers don’t look 
horny like. Reckon you’ve seed better days.” 

John Ruffin continued silent, Showing symptoms 
of annoyance. 

“Where did ye come from ?” 

“That’s my business.” 

“So it is — darn my buttons, if it isn’t,” said 
Grim, who, if his speech was scrubby, really had a 
kindly winning tone and manner, as good policy re- 
quired. “’Scuse me. Didn’t mean to worrit ye. 
Ev’ry feller has round him his own little circle like, 
and a stranger’s foot dasn’t go in.” 

“Whe-e-w !” he presently remarked, all the while 


296 


Thomas Mu fin. 


on a lookout to discover, or make a way for, an 
opening to get in liis work, “this here room of 
yourn’s hot as old Harry’s, and I’ve ke tolled a git- 
tarrh” — giving, as do the illiterate, a strong accent 
to the first syllable. “’Spose you open the door.” 

Hard of hearing, John Ruffin looked at Grim in a 
puzzled way. Then rose and turned towards the 
door. Grim, seizing the chance, made a quick move- 
ment, and was on the point of thrusting the money- 
roll between the mattresses, when John Ruffin again 
unwittingly frustrated him by turning and asking : 

“Did you say you fetched a guitar to the door?” 

“Ha ! ha ! ha ! No-o-o, my old friend. I said I’d 
ketched a g^tarrh, a ^tarrli in my head — a bad 
cold, don’t you know ? — and wants fresh air. What 
Wyou call the tarnation thing?” 

“Oh-h-h ! replied John Ruffin, who by this time 
had lost the full dollar’s worth of patience, “if you 
want fresh air, you can leave.” 

“Now, ye’ll let a feller rest a bit, as what’s 
brought a job, and paid double price cash down 
— won’t ye? He mought have another.” 

John Ruffin thought upon the new bright coin in 
his pocket and of the pleasure he would have in pre- 
senting it to his son, and Grim’s argument had 
weight enough at least to arrest his hintings. In 
resuming his seat in silence he directly faced the 
bed, and Grim, whose work was to be effected within 
narrow time limits, saw something must be done to 
change his position. He had noticed a miniature 
upon the table. Rising now from his seat on the 


Thomas Ruffin. 


297 


bed, lie took tbe miniature in hand, and began a 
haphazard sort of conversation, in the hope it might 
lead in some way to his getting a chance. 

“It’s fine!” he said, holding the portrait admir- 
ingly before him. Then, having rubbed the setting 
and smelt the finger, he broke out : 

“Blast my buttons ! if this here rim and back here 
ain’t real gold ! — Whose pictur?” 

“Mine.” 

“O do tell me somethin’ I doesn’t know. Whose 
likeness m ought it be ?” 

“My son’s.” 

“Reckon yer look at it ev’ry day.” 

“I look at it once a year.” 

“Once a year ! Ge-e-e whillikens !” 

“I take it out on his birthday.” 

“This his birthday ?” 

“Yes.” 

“How old ?” 

“Twenty-six.” 

“Where is he ?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“Living?” 

“Can’t say.” 

“Spiled in the raisin’, p’r’aps.” 

John Ruffin was silent. 

“Did he leave you?” 

“Yes” — after a pause. 

For a moment Grim stroked the full grisly beard 
of disguise. Then, as though struck by an animat- 
ing thought, he advanced, extending the hand : 


298 


Thomas JRujJin. 


“Yer hand, my old friend, I’ll be dog gone ef we 
ain’t paddlin’ in the same cunnoe.” 

“What do yon mean ?” 

“Why, my boy, too, lef’ me four year back ; and 
I hain’t heerd a word frum him a hul year las’ peach 
time. But I’m ’spectin’ him to turn up, I is.” 

This struck a warm deej) current of sentiment in 
John Ruffin, who immediately became interested in 
his visitor. With sparkling eyes Grim saw the hit 
and worked the idea for all it was worth. 

“I is, in truth,” he went on. “He’s my oldest 
boy, and times is hard. It’s apurtybad bread-and- 
butter scuffle, and takes a mighty hard pull to git 
along, with my old woman and little ones to tote. 
But, says I to myself, says I, one day, when I’m in 
the straits and all down-hearted, and feel I’m all 
forsakin, and the world’s all agin me, I’ll hear a tap 
at the door.” 

“Hear what?” John Ruffin asked, not catching 
the word. 

“A tap at the door. — Come in, says I, and in comes 
my boy, with a smile on his face, and gold in his 
wallet. Ha ! ha ! ha !” 

“I hope so,” said John Ruffin, looking full at 
Grim with eyes of sympathy.” 

“Yes-sir-re ! I’m ’spectin’ my boy to turn up yet ; 
and, mebbe, yourn’ll turn up, too. Yes, I guess he’ll 
come back alive some day, like Jonidab frum the 
whale’s belly. Patience, patience. Don’t yer know 
mulberry leaves in time gits to be satin ?” 

“I’m praying for his coming every day.” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


299 


To secure John Ruffin’s interest was a primary 
condition, since it involved acquiescence in his re- 
maining, and Grim felt he had made a critical hit. 
Still, the minutes were flying and no chance in sight, 
till John Ruffin spoke of his praying every day for 
his son’s return. Grim now thought he perceived 
how he could change presently his posture without 
creating suspicion, and have the game in hand. So 
he began a run on “praying,” conjugating it in all 
its moods, tenses, and inflexions : 

“You’re a prayin’ man ?” 

“I am.” 

“Ever git anything ?” 

“Get anything! My prayers are heard so often 
I’m almost afraid to ask God for anything.” 

“Why so ?” 

“I might ask for something I ought not to.” 

“Ge-e-e whillikens ! — Reckon you love to go to 
meetin’.” 

“Love to go to meet him % Do you mean Tammie % 
I love to to meet him.” 

“Ha! ha ! ha ! Way off the track. I mean, do 
yer love to go to church V ’ 

“Oh-h ! — Sometimes. Can’t go in bad weather.” 

“Why so V 9 

“I haven’t any money to buy a seat, and they put 
me in a back corner behind the pillars, where it’s 
cold and I can’t see or hear. But it’s a good place 
to pray.” 

“Behin’ the pillars ! Darn my buttons ! ef some 


300 


Thomas Ruffian. 


of these old fellers a prayin’ bellin’ the pillars, ain’t 
the pillars theirselves.” 

“The pillars!” exclaimed John Ruffin, not fully 
catching Grim’s words, and puzzled as to his mean- 
ing. 

“Yes, the biggest sort of pillars; but the preacher, 
he can’t see ’em. He sees them as set in the front pews 
and shells out, and calls them the church’s props. 
But more an likely the blessin’ as what holds up 
the hull consarn, is some poor old neglectit shinin’ 
soul in a back corner, a prayin’ bellin’ the pillars. 
Them’s my sentiments.” 

“You must pray too, remarked John Ruffin, with 
an interest in his visitor enhanced by his apparent 
religious character and the special quality of his 
views — a quality seemingly all the finer, as proceed- 
ing from so rough looking a fellow. 

“Be dog! ef I don’t,” responded Grim promptly; 
“and I feel like prayin’ this very blessed minit. 
Let’ s git right down here and pray fur our poor boys. ’ ’ 

John Ruffin made a movement as if to get on his 
knees facing Grim and the bed, when the latter 
interposed : 

“Stop, my friend, stop ! Look a here ! Ain’t yer 
goin’ to pray to’ards the East V ’ 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I mean it’s better to pray to’ards the East. I 
alters do.” 

“Why?” 

“Why! — Don’t yer know, when the Lord wus 
born, His star ’peared in the East ? And don’t yer 


Thomas Ruffin. 


301 


know, when He comes to jedge, with a great light all 
about Him, and all the shiny angels a follerin’, He’s 
to come frum the East f And don’t yer know, when 
the grave-diggers dig their graves, they dig their 
heads to’ards the West, so that, when they rise up, 
they won’ t have to turn all round to see Old Master 
a cornin’ frum the East f And don’ t yer know all 
the churches have their halters at the East end; 
and so, when the people are all a prayin’, and have 
their necks bent to the halters, they’re a facin’ of 
the East ?” 

“I didn’t know.” 

“It’s so, fur certain and sure. And now lets git 
right down here on our marrow-bones, both on us, 
and pray fur our boys. You pray to’ards that there 
door there. That’s to’ards the East.” 

“Will you really pray with me ?” 

“Will I pray with yer ! In course I will. I’m a 
X>rayin’ man frum the word ‘go.’ I can make a 
prayer as quick as ye can shuffle a deck; and I can 
pray, too, as long as any man. Try me. Try me 
and see.” 

“Let us pray, then.” 

If ever it be true — as no doubt it often is — that the 
sincerity and depth of a prayer may be measured by 
the exteriors of the suppliant, the air of unaffected 
humility, the subdued and mindful reverence, trans- 
parent in this afflicted man as he knelt, was the 
counterpart to the swell of pure tender sentiment, 
which, inspired by the hallowed hour, he presented 
before God. Grim, too, knelt— at the bedside; and 


302 


Thomas ftuffin. 


immediately he made use of the chance to hide away 
between the mattresses the money-roll. The job 
had been a difficult one, and his wits much longer 
on the stretch than he had anticipated. He con- 
sulted his watch. Time was up. He was to me$t the 
cracksman, to stand guard outside the Bank, or the 
scheme would fail. To make the meeting now was 
barely possible. Unfortunately, he reflected, he 
had flung down the glove to a prayer contest; and 
while John Ruffin was sincere every whit, with no 
thought of a profane physical endurance, Grim, see- 
ing his spiritual turn, did not know how long he 
might not remain kneeling, and to pronounce, there- 
fore, a loud “amen” and rise, was an absolute neces- 
sity. John Ruffin, whose memorial prayer had been 
offered already, rose, too, and reverently. 

“Hope yer prayer will bring yer boy,” remarked 
Grim, preparing to leave. 

“I hope so.” 

“I’ll call fur the cheer next week. God bless yer.” 

“God bless you, too.” 

Grim’s gumption and kindly way had held secure- 
ly John Ruffin’s attention, to the exclusion of other 
thoughts. As he passed out, the latter looked up 
at the clock, and suddenly becoming conscious of 
Thomas’ prolonged absence, exclaimed, with dismay 
written upon his countenance : 

“Good gracious! It’s long past Tammie’s time. 
Why, why don’t he come !” 

At once he is agitated profoundly, the mental 
condition finding expression in divers movements, 


Thomas Ruffin. 


303 


now liasting up and down tlie room, now wringing 
the hands, now stroking the head, stirring the tire, 
touching up the table, &c., &c., in the vain effort to 
lessen the pressure of thought in one direction by 
dividing it. Finally, he kneels a moment in prayer. 
Rising, he bewails the hour : 

“He’s here these late Thursdays a little after 7. 
It’s now after 9. Oh ! I wish he would come !” 

Now he hurries to the window and looks up and 
down the street, muttering, as he lowers the sash : 

“How those stars glitter ! so cold ! so pitiless !” 

Again he bestirs himself about the room in a whirl 
of distress, pitiable to behold. No human being 
knew the depth of the suffering his morbid anxieties 
inflicted. Reflecting a moment, he breaks out in a 
degree of agony : 

“Gracious me! he may’ve been robbed! My 
God!” 

He kneels and prays a moment. Then, all beside 
himself, in a state of excitement seemingly ap- 
proaching a paroxysm, he flies to the window and 
scans the street again : 

“My-y ! my-y ! nearly every light is out ! Oh ! I 
do wish he would come !” 

Scarcely had he lowered the sash, when, catching 
a foot-fall, he raises his head and listens intently. 

“I believe that’s his step,” he whispers between 
hope and fear. 

He looks from the window. The anguish has pass- 
ed. The pressure is gone. A light and happy heart 
rings out : 


304 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Yes, yes! It is, it is ! O you winking, laugh- 
ing little stars, you’ve got another face now.” 

Thrice happy, indeed, was John Ruffin to meet 
his son — looking, too, so animated and improved ; 
for the work in hand to night had inspirited 
Thomas. Again and again he embraced him. Again 
and again, by word and by action, did he manifest 
his joy. Observing on the table the flowers Sister 
Jessica had brought that afternoon, Thomas pres- 
ently disengaged a Moss Rose and transferred it to 
his button-hole. 

“I’m glad,” remarked his Father, “it’s not a she 
who sends the roses.” 

There was a twinkle in Thomas Ruffin’s eye, un- 
observed by his Father, as he recalled how cleverly 
Sister Jessica had extricated herself from a certain 
difficulty ; for John Ruffin had been careful to de- 
tail to his son the conversation with the Sister re- 
specting the sender of these flowers. But the pre- 
vailing thought was in another quarter. Thomas, 
now brightened up and in a sanguine hopeful frame 
touching everything, had taken the rose full of ten- 
der sentiment towards Amy Sanford, and what his 
Father, did observe, was, that, as he spoke of the 
roses, the blood mantled his son’s cheek. 

“What on earth’s the matter?” he anxiously 
asked, peering into Thomas’s face. 

“Nothing, Father — nothing at all.” 

“Yes, I’m glad it wasn’t a she” John Ruffin went 
on, touching the same sensitive string. “One of these 
days, when you get older, will be time enough to be 


Thomas Ruffin . 


305 


thinking about she's and sweethearts and — there it 
is again,” breaking in upon himself on observing 
again the mantling blood. “Your face has all at 
once colored. Something is the matter. Why do 
you look so, my son?” 

“The cool night air may have brought the color.” 

“I never thought of that. I’m so glad to know 
the reason.” 

“And I’m glad, Father, to see you so bright to 
night.” 

“Bright ! Oh ! I’d almost forgotten. I’ve got 
something bright for you. Here’s the money for a 
chair” — showing the dollar. “See ! What a nice 
new coin ! And now it’s all yours ” — pressing the 
coin in his son’s hand, “and I’m so glad I can do a 
little to help along.” 

“I am glad you can help along, Father, but far 
more glad to see your thoughts so clear. It’s many 
a long day since I’ve heard you talk so well.” 

“This is your brother’s birth-day, Tammie, and I’ve 
been thinking and thinking about him — and then 
about the time when he left us — and then about the 
time when he was a little boy at Cloud Cap. I think 
better, when I think of things way back. And my 
thoughts to-night about these way back things, have 
been so clear, that I seem to think better about 
everything. And I feel strange, too, my son, as if 
waking from a dream. And a dread is on me, too, 
as if something might happen. You know they say 
clouded minds sometimes brighten up, when the 
light’s about to go out for good.” 


306 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“I’m delighted to hear you speak so much like 
yourself,” ’said Thomas, struck by his Father’s un- 
usual fullness and clearness of speech, and embrac- 
ing him. “My dear Father, your are so much bet- 
ter. And let us thank Grod for it.” 

“I do, my son — I do.” 

“And put away the dread you seem to have of 
some evil about to happen. — There is something 
going to happen ” 

“What is it? what is it?” quickly interrupted 
John Ruffin with look of alarm, drawing his chair 
close to that of his son and seizing his hand, as if to 
shield himself from some impending danger. “I 
feared so, Tammie.” 

“Nothing bad, Father, I assure you. It’s going 
to happen to-night, and ” 

“To-night!” — his fears again interrupting. 

“Yes, Father, but don’t be alarmed. I must leave 
for the Bank directly after supper. I’ve some 
special work on hand there, and may be kept away 
all night.” 

“All night, my son !” — alarm increasing. 

“Yes, Father. But you must not be uneasy. It’s 
not bad, I say.” 

“Is what’s to happen anything to do with the 
Bank V ’ 

“Yes.” 

“And can’t you tell me what it is?” 

“Not now, not well now”— his Father would have 
been frantic, had he known Thomas was to be en- 
gaged in watching for a burglar. “I’ll explain it 


Thomas Ruffin. 


307 


all to-morrow. Believe me when I tell you it’s not 
bad, but something for my good, as well as for the 
good of the Bank.” 

John Ruffin reflected a moment, and then joyfully 
exclaimed : 

“O Tammie ! I know what it is. The Banker is 
going to promote you.” 

“I can say this much, that what’s going to happen 
is very likely to result in my being promoted.” 

“I thought so. O I’m so glad. You deserve it, 
my son. You’ve, worked so hard and for so little 
pay. And Tve got some good news for you, too. 
But I shall keep it till to-morrow, just as you do 
yours. And there’s money in it for you, too.” 

“Yes, Father, I think I can count now on having 
more money, and being able to provide for you bet- 
ter.” 

“My son, you provide for me now very well, in- 
deed. You’ve just given me these nice flannels I’ve 
got on; and when I go out and the wind blows cold 
and I feel so snug, it seems to me as if these flannels 
were your own arms round me, making me warm 
and comfortable.” 

“But I shall provide for you better still.” 

“My dear, dear son !” 

“And I shall be able, too, to put by something 
every month. We will save and save, and put by 
more and more.” 

“That we -will, that we will.” 

“And after a time,” went on Thomas, flushed by 
his environments and with the future rosy before 


308 


Thomas Ruffin. 


him, “I shall be able to go into business on my own 
account; and we shall have a home of our own — ” 
“My dear, dear son !” 

“with every comfort round you — ” 

“Dear, dear son !” 

“and servants to wait on you.” 

“My dear, dear son !” 

“And my business will grow and grow; and after 
a time, when the money’s in hand, I shall go down 
South and buy back for you” — Thomas pauses an 
instant, and his Father tightens the grasp on his 
hand and looks up at him with beaming expectancy 
— “what d’you think, Father? Why, I shall buy 
back dear old Cloud Cap /” ’ 

At this John Ruffin burst into tears. Then rising, 
he put his arms about his son’s neck, and, as Thomas 
went on, murmured out his joy upon his breast. 

“And we shall put a man in charge, Father, and 
have it cultivated, just as you used to cultivate it. 
And we shall spend a part of each year at dear old 
Cloud Cap. And you’ll ride over the fields that 
knew you before. And I shall see again every old 
familiar spot I loved when a boy, the places where 
I set my partridge traps and hare snares, and the 
old branch crossing where I used to build my mud 
dams and run my corn-stalk flutter wheels; and, 
Father, we shall be so — ” 

Thomas suddenly paused at the sound of hurried 
feet and voices on the steps, as of men making for 
the door. In alarm father and son part from their 
embrace. 


Thomas Ruffin. 


309 


“What’s that Tammie?” 

“I don’t know.” 

There was a rap.' Thomas rushed to answer it, 
and, as he opened the door, faced Dalguspin. 

“For God’s sake, what’s the matter?” he cried, as 
his glance revealed others in the rear of Dalguspin. 

“I’ll tell you in a moment. Let this officer in.” 

Thomas’ lirst thought was for his Father. Dread- 
ing the effect of such a demonstration — and at mid- 
night, too — he hastened back to his side, amazed 
and bewildered. The officer was followed in by the 
Watchman and Noals — Noals being followed by 
Robert Small, who remained apart in the rear. A 
moment later Friend Peale and Sandy Johnson en- 
tered and stood back near the door, resolved to see 
the end of this most strange affair. Meanwhile the 
investigation had begun. 

“The Bank has been robbed, young man ! What 
do you know about it ?” asked Dalguspin, address- 
ing Thomas who stood breathless, with liis Father 
trembling behind him. 

Thomas made no reply. That he, a party to cap- 
ture the robber, should be charged or suspected of 
being in any sense a party to the robbery, absolutely 
confounded him. He stood speechless and pale as 
death, looking Black Isaac full in the face, but un- 
able to utter a word. 

“What do you know about it, I say?” 

“Nothing,” Thomas stammered out. 

“Nothing! Why then leave before the Watch- 
man’s return ?” 


310 


Thomas Ruffin, 


“I did not.” 

“You did ! you did !” asserted William, speaking 
up and advancing. 

“/ did not!” 

“ You did ! you did!” repeated William. 

“I will swear I did not leave before your return. 
I left a few moments after you came in, and every- 
thing was straight then.” 

Had Thomas Ruffin seen Friend Peale and Sandy 
Johnson, no doubt he would have called upon them 
to witness his words. But they were standing far 
back and somewhat to his side, with a single candle 
to give light to the room. And even had they been 
within the line of vision, their presence would have 
escaped him; for, under the tremendous excitement, 
he saw not a soul save the person he was addressing. 
Friend Peale, on his part, did not think the moment 
opportune to speak, seeing he had made already a 
statement to the Watchman and others at the Bank, 

“It’s a lie as God’s my witness !” avowed William. 
“At what hour did you leave ?” 

“A quarter to 10.” 

“By the Bank' s clock V' 

“Yes.” 

“Now, see how you are caught : When I entered 
the Bank I found the safe had been robbed and at 
once gave the alarm. This officer” — pointing to po- 
liceman — “was at the door when I came up. He saw 
me go in and rush out. The interval was not one 
minute. I took him in, to see how things were, and 
called his attention to the time, and the Bank's 


Thomas Ruffin. 311 

clock showed forty minutes past 10! Isn’t it so, 
Mr. Officer ?” 

The officer nodded assent. 

Thomas made no reply. He could make none 
against the statement of William, supported by the 
officer. He was dazed. The only thing clear to him 
was his innocence. He was unable to see how an 
error might have occurred — how the person whom 
he had taken to be the Watchman could have been 
any other than William. Was there a conspiracy 
against him — it flashed into his mind — on the part 
of William and the officer? Or was he the prey of 
some evil spirit, doomed to be entangled and led on 
to ruin ? He stood silent and confused, with the 
blood mounting into his pallid countenance. 

' By this time the Institution, which had been all 
abed, was aroused. Miss Kitty and Sabina hurried 
down. The officer was on the lookout at the inner 
door for the authorities, to explain. Miss Kitty was 
fighting mad to learn The Home had been invaded 
in this style, to make such a bastard lying charge 
against “Mr. Thomas,” and that a million Dalgus- 
pins — she knew something of Black Isaac— might 
swear themselves black and blue before she’d believe 
a word of it. When she entered, a glance at the 
situation, the perplexity and distress of the father 
and son, wrung her heart, and, intensely roused, it 
was all the officer could do, to restrain her from 
“pitching in” with a red hot Irish hand, he warning 
her that the proceedings were a kind of court, &c. 

John Ruffin had been standing aghast behind 


312 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Thomas. Recovered now from the immediately par- 
alyzing effect of the shock, he leaped into a flame, 
and came forward approaching Dalguspin : 

“Do you charge my son with robbing the Bank f” 

There were a score of persons in the room, with 
officer of the law. But the awful wrath of this 
stricken old man who seemed to swell and get big- 
ger under its influence, advancing on him with lips 
quivering, eyes blazing, and cane (which he always 
carried) uplifted, was more than Black Isaac’s ner- 
vous organism was framed to bear. He sprang back, 
and tremors seized him extending from the cerebel- 
lum to the lowest vertebrae of the spinal column. 

“Down with that there stick,” commanded the 
officer, interposing. 

“Do you charge my son with robbing the Bank ?” 

“I’ve made no charge. I’m here to find out what 
your son may know about this robbery. He has 
been taken already in a lie ” 

“He can’t tell a lie !” fiercely broke in John 
Ruffin, again advancing with uplifted cane. 

“Down with that there stick* there, I say,” re- 
peated the officer, stepping in front of .John Ruffin. 

“Didn’t you hear how your son was caught?” 
went on Black Isaac, at a discreet distance from the 
enraged father. “Didn’t he say he left the Bank , 
by the Bank’s clock at fifteen minutes to ten, 
when the Watchman entered ? And isn’t it proved 
by this officer, that, when the Watchman entered, 
the Bank’s clock showed forty minutes past 10? 
What d’you say to that ?” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


313 


“That my son cannot tell a lie.” 

‘Til waste no more words on an old fool. We’ll 
have this room searched. Here’s the officer to do 
it.” 

"‘Searched for what?” 

“Money.” 

“Money ! — Tammie has worked and worked day 
and night, but you haven’t given him enough to lay 
by any.” 

Dalguspin saw it would be better to smooth mat- 
ters over, if possible, and, in a conciliatory strain 
leading up to the end in view, adroitly said : 

“Mr. Ruffin, you do right to stand up for your 
son. It appears he has gotten into a hole. There’s 
one way out. It may have been the robber, dis- 
guised as the Watchman, who entered the Bank at 
a quarter to 10 and deceived your son.” 

“That’s how it was ! that’s how it was !” ardently 
exclaimed John Ruffin. 

“We shall have this room searched; and if noth- 
ing be found to tix guilt on your son, I shall suppose 
he must have been tricked in this way, and will fully 
repay both you and him for having hinted such a 
charge.” 

This turn — considered a most reasonable view of 
the case — sent a great thrill of joy through the 
hearts of Thomas and his friends. 

“Will you, Mr. Banker ?” entreatingly asked 
John Ruffin, now completely pacified, seeing light 
ahead. 

“Yes. — But, should money in suspicious amounts 
be found ” 


314 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“ Good Mr. Banker! Good Mr. Banker /” cried 
out John Ruffin, eagerly breaking in and taking 
Black Isaac’s hand in both of his, “you say you’ll 
do something good for Tammie, if you find nothing ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Good Mr. Banker! — Tammie,” he continued, 
turning to his son, “they’ll find nothing, and it’ll 
turnout for your good. You said this evening some- 
thing might happen to-night for your good, and it’s 
going to be so.” 

“Did you hear that 4” asked Dalguspin of the 
officer, aside. Then aloud to John Ruffin : 

“What was it you said 3” 

“I said Tammie told me this evening something 
was. going to happen to-night for his good.” 

Dalguspin, aside, nods to the officer. 

“Was it anything in connection with the Bank /” 

“Yes. He said ’twas about the Bank , but wouldn’t 
tell me what. He said ’twould make him better off, 
and he’d be able to provide for me better.” 

Dalguspin, aside, again nods to the officer. 

Here was another turn, and one unfortunate for 
Thomas. He could not deny a word his Father just 
had spoken, yet saw how pointedly they compro- 
mised him. Neither had he the presence of mind to 
attempt an explanation. He had noticed the bye- 
play between Dalguspin and the officer — as had, too, 
all the rest save John Ruffin, dull of eyes and ears. 
A deathly sense of being forsaken and devoted came 
over him — forsaken by the good influences. It has 
been mentioned in a back chapter, that the superin- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


316 


tendence of angels was impressed early and vividly 
upon bis consciousness. He felt now — in bis con- 
fused, bewildered state of mind— that the evil spirits 
bad him. An awful sense arose of some plot they 
bad formed against him, and to further which they 
had beguiled his own dear Father to incriminate 
him in the very effort to defend. As for his friends, 
a horrible fear began to take shape. They hung 
their heads. Could such a thing be possible ! 

“That’s all he would say,” went on John Ruffin; 
“but I see how it is now. Will you promote him, 
Mr. Banker ?” 

“Yes. I think now your son will soon have a 
change of position” — aside to the officer, “ under 
your guidance .” 

“ Good Mr. Banker ! good Mr. Banker /” — You 
may search, but you won’t find anything. If you 
haven’t paid Tammie to-day, there’s only one silver 
dollar in this room, and that’s in Tammie’ s pocket, 
and that I gave him myself. If you find any more, 
you may take Tammie. Yes, you may take my 
Tammie ,” turning to his son and taking his hand, 
“if you find any more than that. — But, Tammie, 
they’ll find nothing, and it’ll all turn out for your 
good.” 

“Make the search,” said Black Isaac, addressing 
the officer. 

With the dispatch and skill of an expert the offi- 
cer went through John Ruffin and Thomas, finding- 
on the latter a silver dollar and one or two pieces of 
small change. Then, turning attention to the bu- 


Thomas Ruffian. 


316 


reau, a few moments sufficed to finish his work there. 

‘‘Nothin’ but the silver dollar just as Pap de- 
clared,” he said to Dalguspin upon the completion 
of the search. “Looks, Gov’ nor, like a water haul.” 

“Why don’t you search the bed?” suggested 
Noals. “Plunder would be more apt to be hidden 
there than anywhere else.” 

“That’s so,” replied the officer; and going to the 
bed and turning over the upper mattress, he finds 
something which he seizes and examines with great 
interest. The attention of all suddenly is roused to 
a high pitch. 

“Have you found anything?” asks Dalguspin ad- 
vancing. 

The officer turns, holding something in his hand, 
and, for a moment, looks fixedly at Thomas. Then 
addresses him in low, incriminating tones: 

“Where did this come from?” extending his 
hand, as he speaks. 

In his distraught state of mind Thomas had fol- 
lowed the search fascinated, not knowing what be- 
devilment might not turn up. He was in a species 
of trance and absolutely unable to answer the offi- 
cer’s question. 

“Where did this come from, I say, young man — 
this roll of ten fifty dollar bills ?” 

Screams burst from Miss Kitty and Sabina — a cry 
of horror from Friend Peale and Sandy Johnson. 
John Ruffin’s deafness had not caught the officer’s 
words, yet he realizes something appalling has hap- 
pened and asks excitedly : 


Thomas Ruffin. 


317 


“What is it, Tammie?” 

“I’ll tell you,” said Dalguspin. “Five hundred 
dollars have been found hidden between the mat- 
tresses, and your Tammie is a thief and a bank- 
robber !” 

John Ruffin, his body thrown back and hands 
clasped upon his breast, stands staring at Dalguspin 
and trembling, in an attitude of terror. 

“Yes — that' s what was going to happen to-night, 
I suppose, and that' s how he’s to be able to provide 
for you better V' 

At this John Ruffin releases his son’s hand — turns 
facing him — fixes on him awful, unspeakable, piti- 
ful eyes — and with a great and exceeding bitter cry: 
“Oh ! Tammie !” sinks into a chair, as if life were 
going out of him. 

Thomas throws himself upon his Father’s knees: 

“Father ! I am innocent ! I am innocent !” 

“Arrest him !” said Dalguspin to the officer. 

The officer seizes Thomas, who. with tears and im- 
ploring hands, repeats the agonizing cry: 

“Father ! I am innocent ! I am innocent !” 

His Father could not speak. He could only raise 
his eyes to Heaven. 

Robert Small's hour had come. 

“Stay, officer!” he cries, rushing forward. “He 
is innocent ! I hid that money there !” 

Huzzas irrepressible burst from Friend Peale and 
party. Dalguspin and Noals turn to escape by the 
outer door, near which Friend Peale and Sandy are 
standing. 


318 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“Seize 'm!” cries Small to the latter. “ They are 
the robbers ! Can you hold them, while I explainf' 

“Aye ! aye ! Sir,” replies Sandy, who had Noals 
as secure, as Friend Peale had Black Isaac. “I’m 
lively and happy. In fact I feel like a jay bird.” 

Miss Kitty and Sabina were now exceedingly nigh 
the borders of a fit; and had not Sabina possessed 
a handy method of letting off excess of sentiment, 
the lit would have been inevitable. Her explosions 
were truly remarkable. As for Miss Kitty, fearing 
Noals in his struggles would get away, she rushes 
to the aid of Sandy, who, getting his arm well 
around her waist, charges her: 

“Haud me tight and gude and he canna rin awa’ 
wi’ us.” 

Meanwhile, some hurried whispered words pass 
from Small to the officer, and the latter releases 
Thomas, and puts Black Isaac and Noals under ar- 
rest. Thomas rushes to his Father, whom the sud- 
den turn of affairs and whirl of emotion have 
brought to his feet. He folds his son in his arms— 
then turns to give thanks to the stranger. 

“Whoever you be,” he said, approaching Small, 
“Grod bless you for ever and for ever for saying my 
son is innocent.” 

“Ho you not know me, Sir?” 

“I can’t say I do. My sight is dim and the light 
is dim” — peering at him. “But I think I’ve heard 
the voice before.” 

“This is Robert, your lost Boy !” 


CHAPTER XX. 


CLOUD CAP. 

With a rage for adventure Robert Ruffin left the 
most enviable of homes. He was shrewd naturally, 
yet, starting out devoid of experience, in profitless 
schemes soon lost his means. He made his way up 
North into the back country, and when last heard 
of had enlisted for the Black Hawk war of 1832. 
The fortunes of that war lie. followed to its close, 
and for conspicuous gallantry at the decisive battle 
of Bad Axe River on the left bank of the Missis- 
sippi, was noticed personally by General Whiteside. 
Drifting down the Mississippi, he landed at New 
Orleans battered and out of pocket, yet bent on ad- 
venture still. He had friends and kindred in the 
city, in the House of Thomas Sanford & Co., but 
was too proud to make himself known. Because he 
could not write favorably, and would not write 
falsely, he had ceased writing home. From New 
Orleans he worked a ship passage to Brazil, attract- 
ed thither by the gold reports. A year and more 
spent in this southern half of the western continent, 
had for net results nothing beyond an addition to 
his stock of knowledge of human nature, and a 


320 


Thomas Ruffin. 


mining experience — an experience which he turned 
subsequently to good account. 

Working a passage back, with the roving spirit on 
the wane, he again landed at New Orleans. Mexico 
and Texas were then at war. The war spirit in New 
Orleans was rampant to avenge the Alamo, and young 
Ruffin soon found himself in General Houston’s 
army. At San Jacinto he was wounded, but fought 
through, and towards the close of the battle saved 
the life of a disabled Mexican officer, who, having 
surrendered, was about to be bayonetted by a ruffian 
soldier. A warm friendship sprang up between 
them, and the officer, about to return to his country 
upon the declaration of peace, invited Robert to ac- 
company him, out of gratitude offering his benefac- 
tor an interest in the mines on his estate. 

Young Ruffin was looking homeward wistfully. 
But seeing an opportunity to return with something 
in hand, he accepted the officer’s munificence. His 
Brazil exj)erience now stood him in good stead, and 
he worked his mine so successfully, striking a lode of 
unusual richness, that within an almost incredibly 
brief period he had accumulated as much gold as he 
could carry conveniently belted round him, and, 
sighing for home, bade his friend adieu. 

His purpose was to ship at Vera Cruz for New 
Orleans. But the first vessel thither traded likewise 
with the city, where his father and brother were 
now living, and the character of the cargo was such 
as to require the skipper to sail for the northern 
city first. While at the port occurred the incident 


Thomas Ruffin. 


321 


which led to his entering Dalguspin’s service. Re- 
specting the fine imposed by the court, it did not 
require a second thought to have him act on Black 
Isaac’s suggestion, and not touch the gold. He 
had just so many pounds of the royal metal. At $16 
to the ouce (its normal value those days) it made a 
certain round sum which he was especially desirous 
to take home intact. Again, this gold was packed 
away and secured about his person in the most artis- 
tic and careful manner, and it was advisable to leave 
it undisturbed, if possible, on the journey. And, 
withal, he considered that to offer nuggets for sale 
would involve risk of discovery that he carried 
treasure, and attendant danger. 

How through Mrs. Peale he discovered the pres- 
ence of his Father and Brother, and how near the 
shock came to making a discovery of himself, have 
been related. Just prior to this, before hinting his 
scheme to Dalguspin, Noals, having heard of Rob- 
ert’s character through the Pawnbroker and his 
moonshine about going abroad, had approached him 
as the Cracksman, intimating that one of the Bank? s 
employees might be tricked to bear the burden. 
Robert’s fears immediately were aroused. Wary, 
too, and needle-witted, he became suspicious and 
determined to remain Robert Small, the incognito 
he had assumed upon his arrest, and keep broad 
awake. By keyholing and otherwise he discovered 
the real robbers, and finding his Brother was to be 
ensnared, entered into the plot with the full force of 
his capacity for adventure, playing parts peculiarly 


322 Thomas Ruffin. 

trying — yet necessarily played, to entrap the vil- 
lians. 

The discovery of Robert, following immediately 
upon the vindication of Thomas, was too much for 
John Ruffin. He fell into a swoon — from which, 
however, he soon recovered through the good offices 
of Miss Kitty, skilled, as the exigencies of her 
position required, in the administration of simple 
remedies; and then ensued another transporting 
scene, the meeting between Father and Son, between 
Brother and Brother, and between John Ruffin and 
his old friends; for the sudden great swell of su- 
preme joy broke through the barrier of his anti- 
pathies, and John Ruffin wept again upon Friend 
Peale’s neck and Sandy’s. Miss Kitty and Sabina, 
too, were full participants in the jubilation. Miss 
Kitty said she never rejoiced so in all her life long, 
declaring solemnly she was so happy she did not 
intend to say “no” to any human being for a whole 
week — a remark let fall, as it happened, within 
Sandy’s hearing, and which the wide-awake Scot 
did not fail, within the time limit, to bring home to 
the Housekeeper. Even the officer — glad to be on 
the same side with a citizen of so much consequence 
as Friend Peale — caught the spirit of the occasion, 
and delayed with his prisoners to offer congratula- 
tions. 

Next morning early Mrs. Peale called, with her 
good man, and the scene of the previous night in a 
measure was repeated. Before they left it was 
arranged— the Peales pressing the invitation upon 


Thomas Ruffin. 


323 


tlieir old friend and refusing to be denied — that the 
Ruffins should come over that afternoon and remain 
with them until something might be settled touch- 
ing the business future of Robert and Thomas. 
Friend Peale had a plan of his own, to make the 
evening memorable, and was aided, too, by Robert. 
For having heard how the latter was belted, he got 
his promise to keep it a secret and defer the exhi- 
bition, till after tea. 

It was a notable “Tea,” that evening. If not as 
thronged as “Teas” are nowadays, nor the styles so 
fashionable, its joyousness was unsurpassed. The 
company was all of one mind and one heart, with no 
lack of topics of conversation of a highly exhilara- 
ting character. Sandy Johnson was there, you may 
be sure, an honored guest. In John Ruffin a minor 
physical revolution had taken place. He was lifted 
up, made anew, running over with happiness. As 
his special servant, Sabina, for this particular occa- 
sion, had been sent over, to serve; and her face was 
illuminated and mouth kept stretched in one un- 
broken smile, and her whole body in a quiver of 
excitation, as she bustled about the table. 

Tea over, they repaired to the drawing-room. Pres- 
ently Robert was called upon to repeat the story of 
his adventures. He gave a racy narrative, remark- 
ing, as he closed with his mining experience, that 
he had on his person some Mexican mementoes to 
exhibit. Refnoving coat and vest he showed on 
arm and neck the remains of wounds from Mexican 
lance and musket. 


324 


Thomas Ruffin. 


“This,” he said, unbuckling a belt, “is another 
Mexican souvenir, and happily of another charac- 
ter.” 

The belt, a most ample one, was of buckskin 
doubled on itself, with the edges stitched together, 
except where left open for the mouths of pouches 
formed by stitching the belt across. It was well 
worn, indeed, with many bulgings standing out, and 
sagged greatly, though sustained by broad stout 
buckskin straps passing over the shoulders. 

“This is a trophy from the mines of Mexico,” said 
Robert, exhibiting from one of the pouches a lump 
of pure gold as large as the thumb, and which shone 
again from the continued friction of the buckskin. 
“These pouches,” he went on, as he turned towards 
his Father and laid the belt across his knees, “hold 
twenty-live pounds in gold dust and nuggets, and 
the value is live thousand dollars. After all, Sir, 
my wanderings seem to have been guided by a mer- 
ciful Providence.” 

The ejaculations and congratulations over, John 
Ruffin exclaimed : 

“Yes, yes, indeed, Providence is filling my cup. 
He has given me back a son with gold in his hand. 
And all along He has been giving me and mine 
friends in this city — all these here — that I didn’t 
know of. And there’s another friend, too, He has 
given me, that I did know of. O if she were here 
to see our joy !” 

“What friend is that, John V' asked Friend Peale. 

“Sister Jessica,” 


Thomas Ruffin. 


325 


“Thee may see her this very evening.” 

u 0 do you know Sister Jessica ?” 

“Certainly I do. Very well, indeed. She was 
invited to meet thee, but comes late. I think she 
has just arrived, and will bring her in” — rising, to 
leave the room. 

As Friend Peale, a few moments after, entered 
with the Sister, John Ruffin rose from his chair to 
meet her, when Friend Peale remarked : 

“On this special occasion Sister Jessica consents 
to be uncovered,” lifting the veil, as he spoke. 
John Ruffin drew back — gave an intense look — then 
opened wide his arms, and Amy Sanford rushed 
into them. 

What followed — John Ruffin’s finding a daughter, 
as it were, and under such circumstances, the cumu- 
lative effect upon him of these renewals of great joy; 
the tumult in Thomas Ruffin’s breast as he beheld 
Amy’s chastened and maturer charms, and recalled 
his confessions to Sister Jessica; the beaming coun- 
tenance of Friend Peale at bringing about so happy 
a turn; the swell of deep-felt joy from every heart 
present, acting and reacting upon each other — we 
Leave to the reader’s imagination to fill out. The 
whirl of emotion received another stir presently from 
the entrance of Aunt Sanford, she being the last to il- 
lustrate this independent and contemporaneous con- 
verging of closely related personalities, through a 
concatenation of circumstances whereby exact truth 
is often stranger than fiction. 

Nestled close to John Ruffin’s side Amy now had 


326 


Thomas Jin fin. 


to tell her story: How failing health compelling her 
to leave New Orleans, she had secured through 
Friend Peale’s good offices, a position in the school 
where she had studied — that in a long and critical 
illness from enteric fever she had been tenderly 
nursed at a Friend’s Church Home by a dear Sister 
Jessica, member of a sisterhood connected with the 
Home — that Sister Jessica took the fever, presuma- 
bly from herself, and died — that she then entered the 
sisterhood, taking the name of Jessica, and purpos- 
ing, as far as she could, to till the place of her de- 
parted friend — that, as Sister Jessica, she had tried 
to minister to him — and that in all things, both in 
continuing the incognito and in tirst assuming it, 
she had acted under the advice of Friend Peale and 
the physician to The Home — with further particu- 
lars and reasons for the disguise, as set forth or 
implied in Sister Jessica’s letter in another chapter. 

Robert Ruffin’s gold wrought a change in Friend 
Peale’s views touching Thomas’ business future. 
The clerkship he had inview for him, was dismissed. 
The young men could now become established on 
their own account. Under the ordinary condition of 
affairs, the valuation of this sum of gold would have 
been five thousand dollars — ten thousand in present 
current funds; but at that juncture it was worth a 
great deal more. The times then were out of joint. 
It was but a month or two prior to the disastrous 
panic of 1837. The finances of the country were in 
a deplorable state; and gold being at a high pre- 
mium, Friend Peale found no difficulty in negotiat- 


Thomas Ruffin, 


327 


ing for Robert and Thomas a joint interest in an 
establised and reputable firm of grocers. This en- 
abled the sons to take at once a house and comfort- 
ably domicile their Father. 

To bring the rest of our acquaintances up to date : 
Dalguspin and Noals were tried, convicted, and sen- 
tenced to fine and imprisonment. Dalguspin died 
in prison. Noals served through his term, and left 
the city. — Our friend Sandy, in due time, led Miss 
Kitty to the altar; nor was it long before his intelli- 
gence, backed by the Peale influence, won for him 
the vacant post of Superintendent. — And Sabina — 
poor, simple-minded, merry-hearted, good-natured 
Sabina — she remained a fixture at The Home. Sabina 
was alone in the world, with no kindred that she 
knew of, her father, who had brought her from Vir- 
ginia, having died. She had sense enough to dis- 
charge the homely duties of her station. Ignorant 
and unknown beyond her local habitation, she was 
faithful to her broom and brush, said her prayers, 
had a ready hand and a smile for everybody, and 
closed her earthly account with better prospects 
ahead, than many a monarch or millionaire. 

A few years have gone by. Thomas Ruffin has 
prospered. It is a winter evening at his happy 
home. A lovely child is sitting on his Father’s 
knee. It’s name is Thomas, and it has full bright 
brown eyes and chestnut hair just like its mother’s. 
A flower stand holds a posy of Mosses. Thomas 
Ruffin and the florist are good friends. Amy and 


328 


Tliomas Muffin . 


himself often visit liis conservatory and have many 
a lightsome laugh over memories of other days. 

Ten years more have flown. Thomas Ruffin looks 
a personable man, of fine presence and robust 
health. Amy has been all a wife could be. 
His son, a bright generous boy, is now thirteen 
— an only child, but in his Father’s estimation 
worth a million. In the order of nature John 
Ruffin, of course, has declined physically. Men- 
tally, under the influence of the most favorable 
surroundings, he has risen to the level of his possi- 
bilities and is a glad-hearted old man. In the do- 
main of affairs, Thomas Ruffin, keeping his eye 
steadily on life’s aim and using legitimate means, 
has prospered abundantly. The business of the 
Firm has passed into the hands of the brothers. 
“Ruffin & Bro.” is a leading House among the city’s 
great merchants. They own ships and import from 
Brazil and the West Indies. Wealth has flowed in 
and enabled Mr. Ruffin to realize the dream of his 
life, the repurchase of Cloud Cap. 

Mr. Kyle — who, it will be remembered, bought the 
property under the decree of the court — being resi- 
dent at New Orleans and making but flying visits to 
Cloud Cap, the estate, controlled by a manager, had 
fallen back. Mr. Ruffin restored it to its old place 
in the front rank among the splendid establishments 
of this famous district. We use the word “famous” 
advisedly. We are writing absolute facts. The 
reader could be taken to this district to-day and 
have the localities we describe pointed out. The 


Thomas Ruffin. 


829 


scenes outlined are historically true. Some of its 
citizens, illustrating the type, could be called by 
name — one, at the date of our narrative, being a dis- 
tinguished United States Senator. It was a district 
then of magnificent plantations, and represented 
great wealth, culture, and enterprise — enterprise 
restricted, by the economic conditions of the day, to 
agriculture. In a general way it was typical of the 
South. It is profoundly misleading, as has been 
truly said, the phrase “New South,” if it is meant 
to be inferred that the old South stands for indo- 
lence and ignorance. There was immensely more 
wealth, more liberal education, more statesmenship, 
more enterprise in the South then, than now; and 
“New South” should be rather a shortened phrase 
for “Renewing South,” the South struggling to re- 
cover her former self. The owners of these estates, 
reared under the influence of lofty ideals, were cul- 
tivated, intelligent, broad-minded citizens, of high 
sense of honor, firm adherants to priciple, purity 
and directness of aim, and — barring perhaps here 
and there a degree of stateliness — bore themselves 
with an engaging grace and dignity befitting eleva- 
tion of character — gentlemen , the ornaments and 
guard of the land. They were the creators and rep- 
resentatives of public opinion, and reflected upon 
the period in which they lived the hue of their own 
qualities. With the plantations under the immedi- 
ate direction of the managers, they had time for the 
thorough study of affairs, and furnished material 
for a grade of public men of commanding ability, 


330 


Thomas Ruffin. 


integrity, and courage, who, challenging leadership, 
wielded vast influence in shaping national legisla- 
tion, and with whom the run of those to-day is . in 
painful contrast. 

The social side, in its way, was no less notable for 
brilliant entertainments, presided over by the charm- 
ing ladies of the mansion, and tended by the trained 
family servants, the courtly slaves of courtly mas- 
ters, with a port and a high breeding and a pride of 
character which the Congo negro never realized be- 
fore, and has not realized since, bookish though he 
be. 

W\tli a free and loving hand and under the stim- 
ulus of a generous rivalry, Mr. Ruffin entered upon 
the restoration of Cloud Cap. His heart was in the 
South, and he purposed, when his fortune reached 
a certain point, to wind up affairs I^orth and pass 
here the evening of life. He increased the acreage 
— rejuvenated and refurnished the mansion, adding 
many improvements and conveniences suggested by 
his city experience — restored and retouched out- 
house and cabin — put the fields in the best possible 
condition — and made Cloud Cap, more than ever be- 
fore, the pride of the district. The work required 
time and repeated visits South. He had kept it all 
from his Father. The restoration having been com- 
pleted, towards the close of that decennary we have 
taken from his life, he made known to his Father 
what he had done, and announced an approaching 
visit with his family to Cloud Cap. As infirm as 
John Ruffin now was, the journey, by sail and steam- 


Thomas Ruffin. 


331 


boat, was easily borne. And the moring of return ! 
What! what! a morning to John Ruffin! It was 
the 21st of April, and the weather, as seemly, put 
on a glorious face for the occasion. Yesterday — so 
dry, so windy, so dusty and disagreable. A cloud 
arose in the night. The air thundered, Thine arrows 
went abroad, and the rain fell. This morning of 
return all is lovely. The birds are out and gay. 
The young leaves so soft and velvety. And gentle 
breezes blow fresh and inspiring, sweet with the 
flowers of an early spring. Of course it’s a holliday 
for the slaves, very many of whom are there that 
John Ruffin remembers. Of course they are all in 
Sunday rig and line the avenue of approach to the 
mansion. And when the outrider, with spaniels 
bounding at the horse-heels, herald the approach, 
what cheers go up ! And how the cheers deepen 
and by turn are answered back from the flies, when 
the open carriage, with grey-haired Cupid on the 
box, rolls through, and the old master, remembered 
for his considerate kindly heart, after years of 
affliction and trial, has come again into his own. 

Leaving affairs in his brother’s hands, Mr. Ruffin, 
with his family, passed a portion of the winter 
and spring of each year at Cloud Cap, dispensing 
a splendid hospitality and giving entertainments 
which were the events of the season. It was during 
the last visit in this decennary that his aged Father, 
perfectly satisfied with the portion Providence had 
allotted him, was called to a higher home, resting in 
the arms of his beloved son, and for his gift thanking 


332 


Thomas Ruffin. 


Him with his latest breath, to whom in his affliction 
he had drawn nigh. 

Those who insist upon having a story to end 
pleasantly, should put by the book here. The 
reader who would follow Cloud Cap to its actual 
historical close, may do so in the few lines that 
ensue. 

Ten years again pass. A horror of great darkness 
has settled over the land. Red-handed war has 
severed states and parted father and son ! — Mr. 
Ruffin, having transferred to the South the greater 
portion of his wealth, was winding up his affairs 
preparatory to linal removal to Cloud Cap, where 
his son, enamoured of life there and now a young 
man of majority, had been more than a year in charge, 
when the war-cloud burst. With the profundest 
concern he had followed the preceding angry dis- 
cussions and deepening threats of rupture. War 
nowadays may be topic of senatorial flippancy. To 
one of Mr. Ruffin’s mould it was the unspeakable 
horror it really is. By sentiment and by interest 
Thomas Ruffin was a Southern man through and 
through. His heart was in the South, his property 
concentrated there, his home now practically there. 
But he was one of those Southern men who could 
not bring himself to think, and was vigorous in im- 
pressing the opinion upon his son and others, that 
the circumstances of the presidential election of 
1860, as much to be deplored as they were, alone and 
in themselves could justify a disruption of the states, 
whatever might be the view held touching the nature 


Thomas Ruffin. 


333 


of their political union. But his son, high-spirited as 
he was dutiful, was in intimate contact with the fiery 
Southern leaders. With the first cannon a torrent 
of passion swept the South. Especially in this dis- 
trict of great plantations and multitude of slaves, 
the effect was indescribable. San Domingo of 1791 
was before the eyes of the citizens— its awful scenes 
of uproar, butchery, and beastly outrage. The furor 
was overwhelming. The young men flew to arms, 
and this son was among them. Mr. Ruffin made 
every effort to get to him, or at least get news. 
The embargo cut him off by sea. Repeated attempts 
to penetrate the lines proved fruitless. Weeks and 
weeks of fears and sore distress passed without 
tidings. At last they came — that Cloud Gap had 
been confiscated, as the property of an enemy; and 
his son slain in battle. 

An individual dies. A race abides. Mr. Ruffin 
lived on a retired noble life, quietly dispensing in 
manifold charities — the Old Men’s Home first among 
them — the means he accumulated, an unassuming 
considerate man, humane and courteous. His re- 
maining years are of less concern, than the section 
and the people, of whom he was one. — What is 
Cloud Cap to-day ? The reader could be taken hither 
and his own eyes witness the desolation. It is in a 
portion of the South that has not felt the renewing 
hand of these latter times. The district — once so 
famous for its cultured, refined, beautiful homes — 
has been given over almost wholly to negroes; and 
its chair in Congress, then adorned by one who stood 


334 


Thomas Ruffin. 


for the best type of all that is full-minded and high- 
minded and thoroughbred in bearing, is now filled 
by a coarse demagogue — an illustration of a present 
pervading and portentous malady, the decadence of 
functionaries, that mediocres and vulgarians obtrude, 
that so many more in private life are more learned, 
honorable, and qualified, than in the halls of council 
— which, if true of the nation’s legislature, is truer 
of the state’s — truest, of the municipal, where so 
often our splendid cities, in jjlace of being in the 
hands of representative citizens, the great merchants 
and business men, the flower of the land, are con- 
trolled by low, inferior, trading sets, propagating a 
blight from these pregnant centres! — Thus much 
in passing. The great plantations of our district 
have been divided and subdivided into small farms, 
and cultivated so unskillfully and so long without 
return to the generous soil, as barely to support the 
wretched blacks upon them. The superb residences 
are falling into ruins, and upon the site of the Cloud 
Cap mansion stand negro huts with chimneys built 
of sticks and mud ! 

But the Renaissance will come hither yet and this 
region blossom forth again. The South, as a whole, 
is advancing, and under conditions that bid fair to 
send her forward beyond her former self. Her cli- 
mate, her soil, her mineral wealth, are the one factor. 
The characteristics of her people, the other. Did 
she not bear a glorious part in the Revolution and 
in the war with Mexico % And if in the last dreadful 
conflict every succeeding battle field was but another 


Thomas Ruffin . 


335 


tribute to the manhood of her rank and file, the 
eminent strength of character they displayed sub- 
sequent to the close of hostilities, when, stripped 
bare, they were compelled to educate their former 
slaves and stand disfranchised in the j)resence of the 
voting negroes, is more admirable still, and the gage 
of a people whence will arise citizens and patriots 
of renown. Confessedly, it is the most American 
section of our country. Since colonial days its blood 
has run mainly in one channel — the purest repre- 
sentative of the men who fought the Revolution and 
framed the Constitution — of that organizing, indom- 
itable, historic race,, which, had not its sea-girt limits 
forbidden expansion at its centre, long since would 
have dominated Europe, and whose powerful settle- 
ments on every continent self-interest and the ad- 
vancing spirit of solidarity must yet combine into a 
confederation dominating the world— and dominat- 
ing it beneficently, as the best exponent of the 
two paramount civilizing forces, commerce and re- 
ligion. 












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